100 Days of RHr
by TMBlue
Summary: 100 days of R/Hr fanfiction prompts
1. Molly lets them share a bed

_**A/N:** On Friday, I started a 100 day series of prompted R/Hr fanfiction. I will be posting one per day for 100 days on my Tumblr, and I'm going to start adding them to my FFN page once a week on Tuesdays. I used to post fic on here every Tuesday, back (years ago) when I was frantically working on a few chapter stories. So, I'm going to make an attempt to get back into that routine. _

_For anyone waiting, I've got a chapter of Pause and a chapter of Thieves almost done, and I'm aiming to post one next week, but I'll be out of town for five days starting Thursday, so we'll see how that goes._

 _Also, if you are interested in submitting a prompt for my 100 Days of R/Hr, you may do so by sending me a PM on here, or even by mentioning a few suggestions in a review on this fic. If you give more than one suggestion, there is a much higher chance I will use one of yours. The way I'm doing this is that I'm working my way through, in order of submission, and looking (on the day) at the prompts sent in by one person, choosing one, writing it on that same day, and then moving to the next person. If you only give me one really specific prompt, I might just really not have inspiration to write it that day, so I'll move on to the next person. So, sending in multiple options makes that easier._

 _Here is a vague guideline for the types of prompts I'm looking for:_

 _A photo, a piece of art, a phrase, a location, an emotion, song lyrics, a film quote, music (instrumental or lyrical), a color, a flavor, a noise, an object, etc._

* * *

 _ **Prompt: "Molly lets them share a bed"**_

 _Prompted by:_ _hermionewazlib_

* * *

It had been years since Bill, Charlie and Percy were under the same roof for Christmas hols. Add in Fleur, Gabrielle, Harry and Hermione, and the table had to be extended for dinner, chairs brought in from the porch and sitting room, and portions kept to a modest serving, with only seconds and a small amount of thirds for each person…

Ron realised he hadn't let go of Hermione's hand since she'd arrived on Platform 9 ¾, many hours ago. Well, except for those few minutes when she'd disappeared to the loo, and then he'd had to help Gabrielle with her trunk while Fleur was setting the table for his mum… but, other than that…

He'd never eaten left-handed before, but he'd gotten the hang of it after a few bites.

Once the kitchen was finally clean, they'd escaped to share the sofa, sitting so close that, as he looked at her, her eyes blurred slightly out of focus. He was currently working on sending a few wordless suggestions her way that maybe they ought to ditch everybody and find a dark, secluded place to snog, when his mum came into the room, looking a bit flustered but generally happier than he'd seen her in quite a while.

"We've got a full house tonight," she began, brushing her hands down her apron as she approached Ron and Hermione. "Bill and Fleur will take his old room, Percy can share with Harry, we'll put Gabrielle in Ginny's room again… Ron, Hermione can stay in your room, and that just leaves-"

"Wait, what?!"

Surely he'd misheard her. His heart was beating too fast.

His mother locked eyes with him, raising her brows in a scary sort of knowing way.

"I can't imagine why you'd have a problem with that," she said, hands on her hips.

He glanced toward Hermione, more out of disbelief and confusion than questioning her intentions, but she shook her head sharply to indicate he'd have to have gone insane to even suspect she wasn't sleeping in his room tonight.

"Uh…" He scratched the back of his neck.

His mother very nearly rolled her eyes.

"Did you honestly think I had no idea you were sneaking her up to your room every time she stayed over last summer?"

Hermione clenched his hand too tight, and he winced.

"We've had charms on your rooms since you were little," she explained, "so we could keep track of you lot. Raising seven children, you've got to have an idea if two or three of them are about to murder each other."

"What'd'you mean?" Ron was nearly speechless over this news. But he really should have guessed. "How-"

"The charms tell us how many people are in each room," she interrupted. "Now, unless you were sneaking Harry up there every night…"

He felt Hermione shake lightly with restrained laughter.

"Alright, fine," he admitted, ears burning.

"Good. Then that's settled." Her exasperated expression morphed to a friendly smile as she regarded Hermione. "It's good to see you home, love."

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," Hermione said, a bit hoarsely.

She nodded warmly and headed away from them as Harry entered the room. "Harry, dear, do you mind sharing with Percy tonight?"

"So…" Ron turned to lock eyes with Hermione again. "Reckon we don't have to worry about that, anymore."

"Can't believe she knew, all summer, and didn't tell us," Hermione groaned.

"She prob'ly thinks that's a fair punishment, retrospectively…"

"Didn't she separate Bill and Fleur when they were already engaged?" Hermione recalled, brow furrowed.

"Yeah, you think she trusts me more than Bill?"

"Doubtful," Hermione laughed.

"Well, I'm not going to question it. She's had a change of heart, or something. Let's not push our luck."

* * *

Two hours later, they had finally managed to say goodnight to everyone and make a break for it. Teeth brushed, faces washed, they met up in Ron's room, the only light coming from a flickering lantern on his bedside table. She closed the door softly behind her and joined him sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Hi," he said.

She smiled at his lopsided grin.

"Hey." She licked her lips, and he shuffled his bare feet over his rug.

"Feels like we haven't been properly alone in-"

"-three and a half months?"

"Yeah," he laughed. "That sounds about right."

"So," she said, leaning closer, "we have two weeks to make up for it."

He walked his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, until his hand was tangling in her hair. Their faces were close now, but not close enough, so she huffed impatiently and grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands, tugging him down until his smiling mouth met hers.

His fingers wound further into her hair as he sighed into her mouth, and she shut her eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was startling just how different it was to kiss him when she knew they wouldn't be interrupted, when the fear of being caught under the Quidditch stands or by strangers passing down an alleyway at Hogsmeade was removed. In fact, she couldn't honestly say it had been exactly like _this_ since they'd come back from Australia, the previous summer. There was always someone nearby who might walk in on them, might call them for breakfast when they weren't even supposed to be locked in his room together in the first place.

His tongue brushed against her bottom lip, and she heard herself moan, her fingernails running up through the thick, copper hair at the back of his neck. He tried to move closer, but their positions on his bed made it difficult, so she pulled away from him long enough to shift a leg up between them and lean into his chest, prompting him to fall backward, lips crashing together again as he gripped her on top of his body with both arms around her.

His tongue met hers, and her shirt had ridden up her back, his hands roaming across her skin. But it wasn't going to be enough for long. She'd missed him quite a bit more than she'd properly admitted.

She had to separate from him again for a much needed deep breath, heart pounding. She pressed her knees into the mattress on either side of his hips and sat up. He groaned and grasped her shirt in both fists, and she breathed shakily through parted, swollen lips.

"We've got too many clothes on," he muttered.

"Do we?" she teased, unsure how she was even able to act coy at this point. She wanted him as much as he clearly wanted her.

He nodded and sat up, jostling her down his thighs as he grasped the hem of her shirt and tugged up. She raised an eyebrow, still having way too much fun teasing him.

"Mum told us to," he explained, failing miserably to mask his amused grin.

She gave him a scandalised glare.

"I don't think that's _precisely_ what she said, actually…"

"Might as well've," he shrugged. "What do you think she thinks we're doing? Sleeping?"

"Yes, that seems reasonable. It's midnight."

"Oh," he said, dropping her shirt. "Well, goodnight, then."

He leaned back into his bed, head hitting the pillow as he closed his eyes unnaturally tight. She blinked at him. He didn't move.

Laughing, she climbed off of him and removed her shirt in one quick motion, tossing it to the floor. Slightly cold, in only her bra, she crawled up next to him, lowering her face slowly until it was a mere centimetre away from his. She could feel his uneven breathing, puffing between his slightly parted lips.

"Goodnight, Ron," she whispered, in what she considered a fairly seductive voice. Though, to be fair, it didn't take much, with him. Kissing the corner of his mouth while draping a leg over his thigh until her knee encountered his erection through his jeans was stacking the deck pretty high.

His eyes shot open, and she shoved a hand up the front of his shirt, done messing around and ready to touch as much of his skin as possible.

"Thought you wanted to sleep," he managed in a strangled voice.

"Oh, shut up," she laughed.

He grinned, and then, without warning, he was holding her tight against his body and flipping them over. She shrieked, laughing as his knee bent between her legs, pinning her down on her back. And then, she abruptly cut off the sound of her own voice, and her eyes widened.

"Tell me you already did a silencing charm," she whispered.

"Uh…" He looked far too guilty to need to give any more of an answer.

She shuddered and pushed him off of her, gesturing toward the foot of the bed.

"My wand's down there. Do you see it?"

"Must've rolled off," he said, climbing out of bed and crouching to look around. "Ah, got it." He held it out for her as she sat up and took it from him.

She flicked her wand around the room, added a Muffliato for good measure, and sat for a moment in silence, chewing her lip.

"What if it doesn't work?"

"Huh?" He stood and took off his shirt, not following her. For a moment, she was too distracted by his newly exposed upper body to remember that she was supposed to be answering him.

"Oh, um…" He raised a brow at her, and she cursed her flushed cheeks. "I mean… what if the charms didn't work and your parents can still hear us? They're only one floor down."

He boggled at her, snorting.

"Since when did you start questioning your charms? We used the same ones all summer."

"Yeah, and your mum knew I was in here!"

"That's not how she knew…" He swallowed, and she suspected a part of him was trying not to think about the possibility of being wrong about that. "Anyway, we lived in a damn tent for months. You're pretty capable of a perfect silencing charm…"

"I'd just feel better if we checked…" she admitted, slightly embarrassed for suddenly second-guessing herself. But it wasn't even that, anyway. The mere fact that his mother knew she was in here with him… and Ron had been right, before. His mum was far too clever to have any notions in the slightest that they'd be doing _nothing_ aside from sleeping.

"Yeah, alright," he shrugged, and she climbed out of bed.

"Just… do something loud, shout or something, and I'll stand outside the door and see if I can hear you at all."

He nodded as she collected her shirt from the floor and tugged it back on, realising it was inside out but deciding not to bother fixing it as her experiment would only take a couple of seconds.

She opened the door, stepped out onto the landing, and closed it again tightly behind her. She stood there for what felt like a full minute, until she felt confident in the silence. But, as she yanked open the door again, she met Ron standing just on the other side.

"-ERMION-"

She clamped her hand fiercely over his mouth, eyes wide. His own eyes crinkled at the edges, obviously finding the whole thing quite funny, as he stared down at her. He lightly bit her palm, and she glared at him, snatching her hand away. Grinning fully now, he wrapped one arm low around her waist, pulled her inside, and reached over her head to slam the door shut.

"Success?" he asked.

"Yes, until you starting screaming my name to wake the whole house!"

"I didn't see you til it was too late!" he chuckled, but he glanced down her body, and his laughter turned to a smirk. "Your shirt's on inside out."

"I _know_."

He released her, and she tore the shirt in question quickly off over her head again.

"Didn't think it would be on me long enough to-"

But he cut her off by ducking and kissing her again. The second her hands touched his bare back, her teeth grazed his bottom lip, and his hands slid down her hips until he was turning them around to face his bed again, gripping her arse through her jeans as one of her legs lifted off the ground to lock her ankle behind his shin. She parted from his mouth to breathe and, hopefully, pull him down into bed again… but, he stopped her, clutching her wrist and kneeling in front of her.

"What are you-"

"Easier if we get these off first," he pointed out, working on her jeans button.

"Smart," she breathed, sucking in her stomach slightly with anticipation as he started on the zipper.

She felt so irrationally nervous as he pulled her jeans down her legs and stared at her. She knew she didn't need to be - he'd seen her naked enough times before that she'd lost count - but her heart was beating a bit too fast and she could feel a warm flush spreading from her face, down her neck and across her chest.

He leaned forward and planted an open-mouthed kiss on her thigh, and she gasped, fist closing around his hair and tugging. Her other hand clawed at his bicep until he stood, stripping off his own jeans so fast that she didn't have a chance to ask if she could do it for him. But she certainly didn't mind as he closed the distance between them again and pushed her lightly backward into his bed. He covered her with his warm body, and she shivered underneath him, not at all from the chill in the room, anymore.

His mouth worked its way down her jaw to her neck, sucking a spot just below her ear as she arched her back and closed her eyes.

"I have an idea," she breathed.

"Mm?" he muttered, distractingly, against her collarbone.

"What haven't we done yet?" she asked, suddenly a bit shy about this and hoping he could read her mind.

She'd evidently stumped him, though, because he stopped what he was doing, just before he reached the top of the left cup of her bra, and he lifted his head, choppy fringe half-covering his eyes from her view.

"Dunno. Might have to be more specific. We've done a _lot_ …" He couldn't hide his smirk, and she wasn't convinced he'd even been attempting it.

"Well," she sniffed, trying to be fully committed to saying actual words so he'd understand her… "You've sort of always been on top, or we're on some surface like a chest of drawers or a table…"

He was clearly remembering evidence of the list she was compiling as his eyes glazed over a bit.

She licked her bottom lip and attempted to shrug.

"Is that true?" he asked, suddenly sceptical. "Never thought about it…"

"Neither have I, really, til now."

"I think we've shagged more times on random surfaces than we have in an actual bed, come to think of it…"

She pressed her lips together, knowing he was right.

"So," she began again, quietly, "can I-"

"Obviously. Don't have to ask."

"Don't know why I'm nervous," she laughed, realising that just admitting it and watching his adorable reaction had pretty much crushed it, anyway.

"Love you," he said softly. And it really couldn't have been a more perfect two words for him to say. She sniffed and ran her fingers down his side until she arrived at the elastic of his boxers.

"Love you," she echoed, rubbing her inner thigh against his hip, making him shiver slightly with desire.

"Good. Now, take off your knickers, and get on top of me," he said, laughing as he clearly anticipated her reaction to his phrasing.

"Oh my God," she sighed, dramatically, as he rolled off of her, "you're so romantic."

"I know," he said, still laughing. "How do you stand it?"

But she reached for his pants, and his expression changed notably.

"Hermione…" he said, in a completely new tone. "Bloody hell, I've missed you."

She stopped what she was doing to climb over him, straddling his hips as she bent down to kiss him, so lightly. He reached up and held her face in both hands, and the contrast of the incredible gentleness of his touch to how they had been before, more desperate with longing and months apart… She thought she could probably have cried if she wasn't trying actively to stop it. She broke away and smiled down at him, becoming more and more aware of all the bare skin between them, how much she wanted him.

"Missed you too. So much," she said, and then she was crawling off him again to remove his pants, turning her back toward him as she sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her hips to pull off her knickers.

But before she could turn back around, she felt his lips press against her shoulder, his fingers working on the clasp of her bra. It snapped free and fell to her lap, and she tossed it to the floor with the rest of their clothes. Now fully naked, she turned around to face him and gently pushed him to his back again, climbing on top of him as he swallowed and gripped her hips in both hands.

"Fucking hell. This was a brilliant idea."

His eyes roamed over her bare chest, lantern light flickering in his pupils. She pressed both palms to his stomach, almost dizzy, his erection digging into her inner thigh. For some reason, they tended to wait until that undefinable moment once they had both driven each other nearly insane before finally doing it. But, just then, she didn't really want to wait one single second longer, and when his hands lifted to cover her breasts, she'd had literally all she could take.

She reached down and wrapped her hand around his erection, watching as he almost choked on a string of swear words, and then, finding his eyes, she positioned herself just right and lowered herself around him. She had considered before how she almost had a type of pleasure amnesia, where she could manage to forget exactly _how_ good it was, until they were actively doing it again. She suspected he might feel the same as he moved underneath her to push even deeper, if that was even possible, and her nails raked over his stomach, his fingers pinching her nipples.

"Oh, fuck, you feel incredible," he slurred out, as she pressed her toes into the bed and moved back and forth.

" _Ron_ … God…" She shivered as he covered her breasts again before sliding his large hands down her bare torso. The way he covered her skin with his hands, his mouth… anything. If she even thought about it too much, she'd feel lightheaded.

"Won't be long, sorry," he muttered, chest heaving a breath as he met her eyes again and smiled.

"Me either." She ran her nails across his nipples as she leaned forward, feeling overwhelmed as he moaned out something that vaguely resembled her name.

Her suddenly erratic movements must have keyed him into her unsteady state, because he started moving a bit more underneath her again, and she collapsed to his chest to kiss his neck as his hands wrapped around her arse. This adjustment forced friction above where they were joined, and she gasped, sinking her teeth briefly into his ear as he shook, gripping her tighter.

Groaning out a series of unintelligible syllables, she felt him pulse inside her, warmth spreading through her. But he didn't completely stop, giving her a few seconds more, until she was clenching around him, sweat beading between her breasts as she wrapped her arms over the top of his head and breathed hotly against his jaw.

They remained speechless for several moments, the only sounds between them their gradually slowing exhales.

Finally, she slid off of him to nestle between his arm and chest, and he held her tightly, dropping his nose to the top of her head. And, honestly, as mad as it was, she could _feel_ him grinning before he spoke.

"So, do we thank my mum for telling you to stay here or Harry for putting up with Percy as a roommate?" He was shaking with the act of completely failing to restrain his laughter.

She kicked him in the shin, lifting her head from his shoulder to meet his eyes.

"Oi!" he shouted.

"I'll leave Harry a note tomorrow," she said, pressing her lips together as he abandoned his attempt to feign seriousness and laughed again.


	2. I Want To Know What Love Is by Foreigner

**_A/N:_** _FYI this chapter is mid-6th year. Also, I'm_ _still taking more prompts, so if you'd like to prompt me during my 100 days of R/Hr project, you may do so by Tumblr ask, Tumblr PM, FFN review or FFN PM!_

 _Examples of prompts I'm looking for:_

 _A photo, a piece of art, a phrase, a location, an emotion, song lyrics, a film quote, music (instrumental or lyrical), a color, a flavor, a noise, an object, etc._

* * *

 ** _Prompt: "I Want To Know What Love Is" by Foreigner_**

 _Prompted by: polawerth_

* * *

"Harry's suspicions were right," Ron said. "This party's bloody ridiculous."

Hermione playfully rolled her eyes and took a dainty sip of the drink in her hand. Levitated trays of colourful cakes drifted past them, and the room was alive with conversation meant to impress anyone within earshot.

"Still glad you invited me, though," he admitted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress robes, which, he was exceedingly glad, actually fit him properly and didn't have a _single_ ruffle, this time…

"Why, if you think it's so ridiculous?" she sniffed, lowering her now-empty cup, turning to fully face him.

"Dunno," he shrugged, but he could do better than that. He cleared his throat. "Had to see for myself?" He attempted a light-hearted smile, but she didn't quite return it, suddenly averting her eyes from him.

He probably should have been braver with his reason, he reckoned, but he had a while for that, yet. His stomach had been in a twist since that morning; though, as soon as he'd gotten past the initial shock of seeing her in form-fitting dress robes, and once they had made the trek up to Slughorn's office, his nerves had faded to a manageable level, and she'd actually taken his hand to walk inside. They'd worked their way through greeting everyone they knew, as well as being introduced to many people they didn't, for the first half an hour. And, at last, they'd found a relatively out of the way spot to stand together. He was quite pleased to realise that he'd managed to act almost completely normal, making her laugh with jokes about the gaudy decorations, even avoiding almost all of his blown-out-of-proportion frustration over what Ginny had shouted at him a few weeks previous, about Hermione and bloody Viktor Krum…

The only tension left between them seemed to be that, even though Hermione had acted pleased that he had maintained his decision to attend the Christmas party with her, she was still a bit sour over his cryptic moodiness throughout the past few weeks. He should maybe apologise, only he didn't want to ruin the mood with an argument, just yet… He really was glad he'd decided to come, even though it was just as her friend. In the end, he would always have more fun just being around her, and he hated when they weren't speaking… or, worse, when they were doing nothing but snapping at each other.

"Do you want another drink?" he asked her, realising his own cup was now empty as well.

"Alright, but let's go together."

She looked a bit uncomfortable at the mere thought of being left alone to stand there while he went for drinks, and he eyed her, sceptically.

"Why?"

A light flush crept across her cheeks, and she tugged his sleeve to get him moving with her toward a long table on the adjacent wall.

"I'd just rather not give Cormac an opening to come and chat with me, if you really want to know."

"What?" This was an unexpected turn, and he felt mild annoyance rising on her behalf. "Has he been bothering you?"

"He asked me to come to this party with him," she said, "and I really wasn't sure, for a few weeks there, if _you_ were still planning on accepting my invite. But, of course, I turned him down, and… he wasn't thrilled."

Ron felt an odd mixture of pleasure and regret at this news - firstly, that she had turned down another offer for him, and, secondly, that she had questioned his intentions because of how he had treated her. He really ought to explain himself. But, as soon as the subject matter that would have to be covered resurfaced in his mind, he felt his stomach flip over sickeningly, and he suspected there was no way in hell he was going to be able to bring that up out of nowhere.

They had arrived at the drinks table, and he snatched up a tankard of mead for her before taking one for himself.

"Thanks," she said, rather brightly, as she took his offered drink, and they quickly headed off through a thick cluster of guests to find another relatively secluded spot at the back of the room.

"Can you see Harry?" Hermione asked, relying on Ron's height, towering above more than half the crowd, to spot him. He craned his neck and glanced around.

"Yeah," he laughed. "He's with Luna and… pretty sure that's a vampire trying to chat him up."

"Well," Hermione said, attempting but failing to hide her amusement, "I don't think he'd rescue _us_ right away if our fates were reversed, do you?"

"No," Ron agreed. "In fact, we had quite a few laughs at Quidditch practice about you shut up here with Slughorn's mates."

"Oh, brilliant!"

Ron grinned through the next few sips of his drink.

"It's a bit hot in here, don't you think?" Hermione asked, and she took another sip of her own mead.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "but I reckon this room isn't meant to hold this many people, not to mention… How many drinks have we had?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows in alarm.

"I hadn't thought about that," she said.

"We could go outside to the corridor for a minute and get some air," he suggested. "I don't think anyone will miss us… Well, they won't miss _me_ , anyway."

"Would you really rather be in Harry's position?" she asked, sceptically, as she dropped her half-empty tankard onto the next floating tray.

"Definitely not," Ron said, feeling sorry that he had let an edge of resentment creep into his tone. He really didn't mean it, he considered. She was right. He was better off not being stuck in here all night with a line of people waiting to prod him about his personal life.

"Let's go, then," and she led the way across the room toward the doors. The moment she opened them, a gust of wonderfully cool air wafted across their faces.

The corridor was deserted, lit only by evenly spaced sconces. Ron tugged the door shut behind them, and they were instantly surrounded by comforting silence. He followed her halfway down the corridor, until she stopped in the shadowy space between two flickering candles, leaning back against the wall and sighing.

"Boys are so lucky, sometimes," she said, and she reached down to remove the shoes she'd been wearing that had made her several inches taller than he was accustomed to. "At least your shoes don't cut off circulation to your toes after an hour."

He winced in what he considered to be a supportive way, before the reality of their isolation in the dark crept up on him. Of course he had been alone with her before, but never quite like this. Friends, he reminded himself. She had asked him to the party as friends.

Then why was his heart beating so fast? He tried to blame the four tankards of mead he had consumed, and he could even blame the three she had had on the way her eyes met his for a bit longer than was typical. And, yes, maybe he had never encountered quite this combination of nerves and alcohol, but he surprised himself when he suddenly opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm… really sorry," he muttered. She blinked at him, shoes held together in her left hand as she pushed slightly away from the wall, moving the tiniest bit closer.

"What for?"

"You know what for," he said, in a low voice, barely refraining from sighing.

"I could guess," she admitted, softly, "but I'd rather you say, so I don't make a mistake."

He ran a slightly shaking hand through his hair, looking away from her.

"I know you only asked me here because you're my friend, and you felt sorry for me being left out. I _do_ appreciate it, and I shouldn't've-"

"What do you mean? That's not why I asked you."

His eyebrows shot up with alarm, and he could see her cheeks colour a deeper shade of red before she tore her gaze away from him and sighed.

"It's not?" he asked, tentatively.

"Nevermind," she dismissed, shakily. "We can go back to the party now. But I don't think either of us should have anymore to drink."

She stepped away from him, turning to head back down the corridor.

"Wait!"

He stopped her in her tracks between the next two sconces, lightly grabbing ahold of her wrist.

"Why _did_ you ask me, then?"

Her eyes flashed to his, desperately.

"Do I have to say it? I did the asking, isn't that enough? You were supposed to figure it out."

"Figure out what?" He was _really_ pushing his luck.

"Don't be thick, Ron," she groaned.

He couldn't leave it this way, not with her right there… with the way she was looking at him. He suspected she'd rather melt straight through the floor than have to say what he was begging to hear. He could do this. He could be sodding brave, for once.

"I want you to have asked me as more than a friend," he said, hardly believing he had actually managed to scrape the words out through his suddenly scratchy throat.

Everything about her expression changed, and he knew, immediately, that he'd said the right thing.

"You do?" she whispered, a small smile spreading across her face.

"Yeah," he said, roughly, realising he was still holding on to her wrist.

She took a step closer. He did the same thing. She licked her bottom lip, and his eyes were suddenly glued to her mouth. She leaned her head back the tiniest bit as she moved in close enough that her dress robes brushed the front of his.

He ducked his head, trying to ignore the part of his brain that was screaming, that couldn't let him believe this was happening. They were so close now, he could feel her hot breath on his mouth.

"I've never done this before," he admitted, at a near whisper.

"I hoped you hadn't," she smiled, and she stood up higher on her bare toes.

He was suddenly panicking. There was no way he could compare to what she knew from before, and he felt idiotically compelled to let her know. They were a breath apart when he spoke again. Damn his nerves.

"But, _you_ have."

Her nails dug sharply into his bicep as she gasped and moved back from him.

Shit, shit, shit. Why couldn't he have kept his bloody mouth shut? Why couldn't he have just forgotten it like he kept telling himself, over and over again, that he already _had_ done?

"What do you mean?! _How…_ " she squeaked, words failing her.

"I'm sorry!" he shouted, quickly, ears suddenly burning. "It doesn't matter. Ginny told me, but she was just being a git, because I found her snogging Dean, and-"

"Is that why you've been a prat to me these last few weeks?!" she cut over him, horrified.

"Yes," he admitted, bitterly.

She whimpered with frustration, closing her eyes for a second.

"But, it doesn't matter, anymore," he lied, "and, I'm here with you now, aren't I?"

It wasn't even just about desperation over possibly losing his chance to kiss her tonight, anymore. Now, he was just hoping with all he had that they could fix it, right now, and he wouldn't have to spend another stretch of unbearable weeks fighting with her. They had come too far to go back, hadn't they? Blimey, he could only hope she agreed.

"You _know_ why I never told you, don't you?" she asked, sniffing, and he suspected she was on the absolute verge of frustrated tears. "Because I was afraid you'd get upset and do something irrational!"

"Spot on," he said, darkly, feeling another wave of remorse and self-pity washing toward him.

"I asked you here because you're exactly who I want to be here with," she said, a bit shrilly. "Do you understand?"

He did understand, though he was still struggling to believe his luck, that she honestly felt even a fraction of how he felt about her. And, to think that, lately, he'd been so fiercely avoiding confronting his own feelings, that he'd nearly ruined it.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I know."

A long silence stretched between them, and he couldn't remember holding eye contact with her for this long, ever before. She took a tiny step closer.

"Do you want to go back to the party?" she asked in a small voice, and he had a strong suspicion that she was really hoping his answer would be no. He shook his head, and her smile returned, very slowly.

He took his own step closer, and she had to tilt her head back again to go on looking up at him. He could do it, he thought. They'd just been so close, moments ago. He only had to lean forward, just a bit, lift his hand to the side of her neck, watch as her eyes fluttered shut-

 _Ron!_

She couldn't be speaking. Her lips were an inch away from his own, and he could feel a warm exhale as she gripped the collar of his shirt.

 _Ron!_

His eyes shot open, and reality came crashing back as he met her fearful gaze, lantern light flickering in her pupils.

He was in the hospital wing. He had been poisoned. He'd ditched the bloody party and never explained to her. And he'd been snogging Lavender Brown.

"You were having a dream, or something," Hermione said, softly, dropping slightly away from him to resume her seat in the chair at his bedside. "At first I thought maybe you were in pain…"

"No," he tried to reassure her, but his voice was quite hoarse, and he wasn't as convincing as he would have liked to have been.

But she nodded, once, and all he could do for the next few seconds was be thankful for what he _did_ have, at least. He might have fucked up, but she was here. And, he had to admit, he preferred the fantasy dreams to the cold nightmares where he thought he would die without making things right.

He coughed, and he could feel her concerned gaze lingering on him as he reached for the glass of water on his bedside table. He took a long drink and looked at her again.

"How long have you been here?" he asked her.

She shrugged, darting her eyes away from him. She'd been by to see him four times since he'd woken here, two days ago. It was really quite a lot more than he deserved, he reckoned. He owed her _something_ , however small, whatever he could manage. But, he knew, from spotting the time on the clock across the room, that she was here far past visiting hours, and he could hear Madame Pomfrey moving around in her office, likely heading toward him any second to administer a series of revolting potions… surely to send Hermione to bed with a stern scolding.

Whatever he wanted to say, it had to be now, and it had to be quick.

"Wish I'd gone to Slughorn's with you."

Her wide eyes flashed back to meet his, shocked.

"I know you only asked me as a friend, but it would've been better than everything else I did, anyway. I'm just… sorry, by the way. I don't say it very much, and I should probably start."

As he had predicted, Madame Pomfrey emerged at that moment, tutting loudly in Hermione's direction as she approached Ron's bed.

"After hours!" she hissed as loud as she dared, so as not to wake the two other students who were softly snoring in their beds across the room. "Miss Granger, what are you doing?!"

"Sorry, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione said, looking quite flustered as she stood quickly, her chair scraping loudly across the floor and causing Madame Pomphrey to glare at her firmly.

But Madame Pomfrey's expression changed to exasperation as she patted down her apron, evidently searching for something.

"I forgot your sleeping potion," she said to Ron, eyes flashing back to Hermione.

"I really don't need it," Ron started, but Madame Pomfrey cut across him as if she hadn't heard him.

"Miss Granger, _why_ are you still here?"

"I'm going," Hermione said, hurriedly, taking a small step backward, looking incredibly conflicted as Madame Pomfrey nodded sharply.

"Good, because if you're not gone when I return, I'll have to recommend detention," and she whipped around to hurry back to her office.

Hermione looked quite frozen to her spot, and Ron could hear her breathing unevenly, finally returning her gaze to meet his, a softness settling in that he was quite surprised to see. But, Madame Pomfrey was quick, and he could already hear the crescendo of her returning footsteps.

"You should know," Hermione managed, in a slightly strangled whisper, "I didn't just ask you as a friend."

And, without leaving time for his reply, she turned quickly around and headed for the door, wrenching it open and slipping outside, shutting it again with a slightly echoing boom.

As her words rang in his ears, a grin spread across his face, and the light feeling he recalled from his dream rushed back over him, not even to be diminished by the three whole spoonfuls of absolutely disgusting potion that Madame Pomfrey forced him to drink, because he'd almost died, three days ago.

Worth it.


	3. How long before your broken heart starts

_**A/N:**_ _Sorry for the delay! I forgot to cross post here on Tuesday. If you are following along on Tumblr, I've posted through Day 12._

* * *

 _ **Prompt: "How long before your broken heart starts giving in?"  
**_

 _Prompted by: screamfan1234_

* * *

A year ago, he'd have assumed he'd never be faced with this particular problem… but it was becoming almost impossible _not_ to hold her hand.

He'd known it wouldn't be easy. He'd known she might not forgive him enough to want him again… if he could call what they'd had before he'd left anything more than fear and loneliness. Of course _he_ could, from his side, he was bloody in love with her. But-

It was already February. It had been months, and they didn't seem to be any closer to moving forward on their mission than they had been after their near-miss at Lovegood's. But, she still went to bed without a goodnight, more often than not. She sat close enough on the sofa, as she read for hours, that he could have touched her without moving anything except his right hand. Her left hand would rest on the cushion between them, she'd tuck her feet up, and her toes would _almost_ brush his leg.

He _could_ keep holding off, for her, but a part of him was too desperate to know if this was for good to keep waiting, with nothing, and he was starting to question what he might _actually_ do, if she'd only find him, alone, in the dark…

He felt like someone wandering, lost, in the desert, unable to see all the way to the possibility of a green horizon. If he could just have one tiny drink, he could walk for days more.

Sometimes, he could convince himself that she'd been watching him, too closely, for longer than normal, as he'd been slouched over maps, preoccupied with attempting to make something edible for dinner… lying in his bunk, half-asleep, fringe in his eyes, vision further obscured by the murky dark. But, tonight, Harry was on watch, and her back was toward him as he climbed into his bed. He lay there in silence for what had to have been nearly half an hour before he heard anything unusual.

It started with the occasional light sniff, as if she was catching cold. But, gradually, her breathing changed, tiny hitches at the start of each inhale.

"Ermynee?" he whispered, to the dark.

She sucked in a much sharper breath, and he turned over, onto his side, to face her, squinting as she rustled around under her blankets, tugging them higher until they covered her all the way up to her neck.

"Go to s-sleep," she whispered back, but he was already sliding his legs over the edge of his bed to sit up.

"You okay?" he asked, and why could he feel his heart pounding so forcefully in his ears? It was such a simple question. He shouldn't be so nervous.

She remained speechless, but he could hear her shivering. He wished he could leave it, go to sleep and forget it. But, of course, he couldn't do that.

"Can you just… say _something_? Doesn't have to be true."

There was another long silence before she let out a muffled sob and turned further away, to bury her face in her pillow, shaking.

Sod it. He stood, crossed to her bed and sat on the edge, depressing her mattress as she tensed with surprise.

"If you don't tell me to leave, I'm going to sit here until I decide you're okay."

She continued to shake lightly as she tried to hide how much she was crying. He was close enough, though, that there was nothing she could do to hide from him. He waited for what felt like a lifetime, before he very slowly laid his hand on her back.

Strangely, she didn't pull away or tell him off. In fact, he could feel her breathing returning to something vaguely stable. And then, once he'd thought she might have actually calmed down enough to be falling asleep, she turned over to her back, and he moved his hand out of her way. She sniffed and wiped her wrist under her eyes to dry them.

Her lips parted, and he almost held his breath to make sure he would hear every word if she'd decided to explain. But, she said nothing, eyes locking onto his in the dark. They were stuck in a gaze so heavy with longing that he involuntarily clenched her blanket in a tight fist.

She hadn't touched him, since he'd come back, aside from when she'd attacked him the night he'd returned, or those times she'd had to grab a hold of him when they needed to Apparate. But, now, she reached for his hand, her cold fingers attempting to hold on to his as he loosened his grip on her blanket and reacted with a sigh, clutching her hand fiercely back.

This was more than a tiny drink. He was gulping down a rushing river.

And then, all at once, she dropped his hand and sat up so quickly that he winced with surprise, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her still-tear-damp face against the side of his head, through his shaggy hair. His arms flew around her waist, and he tugged her much closer, so her body was aligned all along the front of his, her knees bending to tuck up behind his back.

"I could never tell you to leave," she whispered.

He didn't know it was going to happen until it already was. At first, he was only shaking, and then, hot tears were rolling silently down his face.

The full scope of his reality hit him hard, and her nails dug into his shoulder blades. He told her he was sorry again in every stroke of his fingers through her tangled hair. She forgave him when her nose brushed his neck, again when her lips barely touched his ear. And he held onto her for so long that he stopped being able to discern her heartbeat from his own.


	4. All Time Low by Jon Bellion

_**A/N:** SMUT ahead!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt: "All Time Low" by Jon Bellion**_

 _Prompted by:_ _callieskye_

* * *

He'd been having the same damn dream every night for the past two weeks, and he was fucking over it. He could see, in a kind of morbid curtain call, all the people who had died during the war… and as he stood there, paralysed and watching, all the fear he'd felt, all the mistakes he'd made, reached out and choked him, physically wrapping long, brittle fingers around his throat.

He tried very hard not to focus on the images that flashed through his mind in the showers at the Ministry, after too many night shifts in a row. But, people talked, and that was making things infinitely more complicated. He was over all that, he'd always remind himself, pressing down hard on insecurities that tried to resurface whenever he'd been too long away from Hermione and Harry, whenever his cold bedroom at Grimmauld Place wasn't nearly enough to comfort him.

He climbed out of bed, on a particularly sleepless night, to write her a letter, the second one he would send this week without a reply. But he told himself, emphatically, that he wasn't going to do that shit again. He wasn't going to spiral into doubt and let his co-worker's drunken tirade, from a night out last week, make him forget the things he knew, with certainty.

He did know, _didn't_ he?

His colleague's cynical words on long distance relationships never working were only calculated from personal experience. This bloke didn't know Hermione. He didn't know them, together. Sure, Ron had never had a proper girlfriend before, but he even hated that _term_ , when he applied it to her. That didn't express anything close to what she was to him.

But doubt could swirl far too easily in the middle of the night, when he was avoiding sleep by thinking, over and over… wanking to shut down the part of his mind that spiraled through the past.

He swallowed nervously as he sent Pigwidgeon out into a roaring storm. It wasn't really fair to give his owl such a long fly on a night like this, but he could feel the knot in his stomach expanding, and there was very little that logic could do once he'd reached this point, once his nightmares had gotten so out of control that he was actively trying to stay awake long enough to shake them.

Which, he grimaced, was going on three days, now. Almost three full days without sleep, and he was expected at work, day after tomorrow. At least he could try for a few hours of rest when the sun was up, blinding light cascading between open curtains to fight back the darkness that crept through him.

At least she'd be home for Christmas holiday in two weeks.

Two bloody weeks. They stretched like an endless sea before him, and, by the first pink light of dawn, the storm had cleared away and he'd halfway convinced himself that she'd finally come to her senses and was just trying to find the most polite way she could to split up with him. Before he could talk himself out of it, he had tugged two jumpers on over his shirt and was on his way downstairs.

* * *

Hogwarts was beautiful in the snow. A part of him had missed that, waking up to a pristine, white landscape outside his tower window.

He now stood in front of the main gates, realising that his next move would have to be his Patronus. He wouldn't be able to get through without a student or professor accompanying him. Only… he wasn't sure if he could produce the damn Patronus with the way he felt…

He was too aware of his new, consuming fears to find anything of use in the most amazing memories of his life over the past seven months, with her, because if it was going to end… well, he honestly didn't even know what he would do. Devastated wouldn't cover it. So, he tried a memory of Christmas, from when he was little, and his Jack Russell materialised. He sent him off with a simple message for her that he was waiting at the front gates, and then, he waited.

Minutes ticked past, and he shoved his gloved hands into his pockets, starting to feel like a real prat for waking her up at dawn on a Saturday just because he was having bad dreams and irrational thoughts. But then, he spotted a bushy head of brown hair, bunched up at her ears by the scarf she'd wrapped many times around her neck. And the way she was practically running down the hill toward him helped to chip away several substantial chunks of doubt.

As she moved down the final slope, she caught his eyes and smiled broadly, and his heart beat wildly, an excited lump lodging halfway up his throat. But there was something else in her expression, some apprehension, and he gripped the iron rail in front of him in one hand, flexing the other inside his pocket.

"Ron! Is everything alright?" she panted, at last arriving a metre away from him.

"Yeah!" he said, quickly, feeling like an idiot for not immediately guessing her source of stress. "Just wanted to see you."

"Oh," she smiled, relaxing as she stepped right up to the gate and reached through it to grip his coat collar. He leaned down and she rose up onto her toes to kiss him awkwardly. They both laughed as their faces encountered cold metal bars, and they broke apart.

She let go of him and waved her wand at the gates, which opened too slowly. Impatiently, she squeezed between the opening and tossed her arms around his neck. He lifted her off the ground and inhaled the warm scent of her hair before lowering her back to her own feet.

"You haven't sent a letter back," he said, regretting how pathetic he sounded as soon as the words were out.

"I know, I'm sorry," she said, dropping her arms from his neck so her hands rested on his shoulders as she stared up at him. "We had a storm here the night after you sent the school owl back, and it was really bad til last night. But, I've got a letter in my pocket for you."

She smiled and let go of him completely to reach into her cloak pocket, handing him a folded sheet of parchment. He tugged up the corner of his mouth and started to open it, but she put her gloved hand on top of his to stop him.

"Read it when you're home."

There was that sickening flutter of panic in the pit of his stomach, again.

"Let's go to the Quidditch changing rooms," she suggested. "There's no game today, and no one would be there this early, anyway."

"Sorry I woke you up…"

"I'm just glad you're here," she said, turning to lead the way through the gates, "don't care what time it is."

Iron clanged shut behind them, and they trudged along toward the pitch in silence, until-

"Wait, why are _you_ up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled, hoping she wouldn't ask him to elaborate-

"Why not?"

-he hadn't really thought he'd be that lucky.

"Dreams. I'm fine."

Her eyes flashed over to him, but they'd reached the doors to the changing rooms, and she tugged them open, stepping through and stomping her boots on the mats to flake off some of the snow from their walk. She removed her cloak, draping it over a bench, and then she turned to face him again as he was shutting the doors behind them.

"What sorts of dreams?" she asked, in a small voice.

"It doesn't matter," he heard himself say. So, what, exactly, had been his plan? To simply snog her until he'd convinced himself everything was fine?

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, not in a threatening way, but he knew he was gonna talk, regardless.

"Just… _nightmares_ , what do you think?"

She looked almost hurt for a moment, and he considered his tone. Why the hell did he feel defensive? He was losing it.

"Sorry," he sighed, shoving a hand through his hair and pacing across the room for something to do.

"What's going on?" she asked, in that soft voice, again.

"Bloody hell, I haven't slept in three days, yeah? I'm sorry. I kept seeing him…"

He swallowed, stopped walking, and rubbed his hands over his face.

"I see Fred, when I fall asleep." He couldn't tell if his eyes were burning so fiercely just from lack of sleep, or if he was also on the verge of tears.

"Ron…" She took a tentative step closer, but then he was pacing again.

"And I'll get so fucked up about it, I'll start thinking you're through with me."

"What?!" Her voice had gone up an octave at least.

"So, I've been staying awake, on purpose," he pressed on, "hoping it would stop, and I dunno if it's even helping, because blokes at work have been talking about how I shouldn't expect you not to move on. You're all the way up here, and I'm-"

"What blokes at work?" she interrupted, and he paused again to watch her fists clench at her sides.

"They don't know you," he reasoned, "and I know I shouldn't listen, but when it's been a while since I've seen you, I start wondering why you'd even want to stay with me."

"Maybe because I love you?!"

He looked her directly in the eyes, and he could see how much she meant it. He took a slow breath and licked his chapped lips.

"Reckon that's a pretty good reason."

She nodded, and he felt like a git, again, for bothering her with this bollocks so early on a Saturday.

"I know you're really busy," she said, tentatively, "but you could always visit more… any time."

"Yeah, but when I was here a couple weeks ago, you were trying to study, and I think I was distracting you."

"Well, of course you were distracting me," she agreed, "but that's alright. I like to be distracted by you. Maybe I _shouldn't_ be, every day… unless you want me to have to come back here for yet _another_ year…"

"No." His eyebrows shot up, but he could feel himself calming, just a bit.

"But I want to see you, always."

He stared at her again, letting her words soak in.

"Ron," she began, once more, quietly, "I know we don't talk about it that much… but you _know_ I'm not going to leave you. Don't you?"

A fluttery feeling erupted in his stomach, and he supposed that vaguelyknowing it and _hearing_ it were two vastly different things. He reached into his pocket and held up the parchment she had given him.

"What's this say, then?"

"Really?" Her eyes widened in disbelief. "It goes on for a few paragraphs about Quidditch, because, last time you wrote, you asked about the match you couldn't make it for, and then I think I spent the rest of the page telling you how much I missed you."

She sniffed, cheeks a bit pink. He really was a prat, he thought.

"Please visit more," she added, in a squeaky voice, and were her eyes suddenly watery?

"I'd be here every day if I could think up enough excuses to give McGonagall and the Ministry…"

"I'll help you make a list," she smiled.

They stared across at each other for a minute, and he really was exhausted, but this had been more than worth it. He could work himself up so quickly, and all it took were a few words from her to make it right. He walked over to her and took her hand, running his thumb across her knuckles.

"If you asked me to, I'd come back," she said.

He squinted a bit, startled.

"What, leave Hogwarts? I'd never ask you that."

"I know you wouldn't. But… I _would_."

He blinked as he took an extra second to comprehend her.

"I'm just… fucked up, I think." He wrinkled his nose at his lack of eloquence. "You're the best thing in my life, you know."

He was sure her eyes were watering, now.

"You're not… fucked up, Ron," she said, grinning as she watched his eyebrows shoot up at her language. He'd walked her into that one.

"You know I love it when you swear," he grinned back, and she rolled her eyes.

"I really have missed you. A lot." She took a step closer so there was hardly any space at all between them. "And, no one's coming down here this morning." She slid her hand around his side. "I glanced at the practice schedule when we came in."

"Yeah?"

She nodded as he ducked, bringing their faces very close together, close enough that he'd hardly have to move at all to kiss her. He reached up to touch her face, suddenly annoyed by his gloves, but before he could do anything about it, she tugged the back of his neck and crushed their lips together. Their kiss turned almost instantly frantic, and she was trying to work his jumpers off, making a frustrated sound in the back of her throat until he grinned against her mouth.

"Not funny," she muttered against his lips as he continued to try and kiss her.

"Aren't you a witch?" he said, before he swiped his tongue across her bottom lip.

"Oh, shut up," she laughed.

She dropped away from him and worked the fabric of his jumpers and shirt into her fists before she began peeling all three layers off his body. He quickly shed his gloves and raised his arms as she stood up on her toes, and he had to slouch forward so she could (a bit roughly) pull it all over his head. She dropped everything to the floor as he reached for her own clothing and noticed.

"You're still wearing pyjamas."

"Didn't want to waste time getting dressed when I saw your Patronus…"

"I'm an idiot," he sighed, so much evidence reminding him that she really wanted to be with him.

"No, you're not. I need reminding, too, you know."

"I love you," he said, immediately.

"That's nice," she smiled, and he went back to work on her clothes, removing her single layer - a long-sleeve flannel - so quickly that he didn't have time to consider that she wouldn't be wearing a bra if she'd just come directly from bed.

"Fuck…" he breathed, as he dropped her shirt to the floor, staring at her naked chest, but she was already removing her own gloves and reaching down for his belt.

He helped her move faster, shedding the rest of his clothes in seconds before she removed her own pyjama trousers and knickers in one. Her eyes traveled down and back up his body before she shoved him backward against the lockers and half-climbed the front of his body, an ankle wrapping around his calf, to snog him again. A deep groan vibrated up the back of his throat as he felt her naked body all along the front of his.

His right hand wrapped around her arse as their tongues met, and she was shakily running her hand up and down his thigh, slowly moving further inward, not that he needed additional encouragement. She dragged her lips down from his, over his jaw to his neck, sucking on a sensitive spot as she rubbed her chest against his.

"Ah… _God_ , Hermione…"

He tilted his head back, eyes fluttering shut.

"My cloak," she moaned against his neck.

"Hm?" He spread his hands across her bare back.

"Put my cloak on the floor."

He opened his eyes, and she backed slightly away from him, trembling and breathing harshly between parted, swollen lips.

"Oh," he smiled, haze clearing away enough for him to make sense of her request. "Good plan."

She took another step back, and he brushed past her to remove her cloak from the bench where she'd left it, fanning it out and lowering it to the floor. She got to her knees on top of it, and he joined her, cupping her face in both hands so gently before kissing her again. But she was pulling him down on top of her almost as soon as their lips met. She parted her thighs and bent her knees, and he worked his way down her neck with his teeth and his tongue, delighting in the feeling of her hands in his hair as he ran his tongue straight down between her breasts. She arched her back as he bit down lightly on a hardened nipple, and his hand moved between her legs. She let out a breathy squeak as his fingers discovered how wet she was.

He exhaled hotly against her skin, and she tugged his hair.

"Come here," she requested, at a near-whisper.

He crawled up until he was propped on his forearms and her hand was reaching between them, small fingers wrapping around his erection as she looped a leg around his waist. Overwhelmed with sensation, he ducked and kissed her fiercely again at the same moment that he pushed forward, burying himself inside her. She gasped as one of her arms curved over her head, and he reached up to hold her wrist there as his chest rubbed back and forth over her breasts, her body arching underneath him, his other hand dropping to hold onto her thigh, pulling it higher up his hip as he pressed his forehead to hers and panted erratically.

Their eyes met, holding on, and she was almost crying with pleasure when he finally felt his body start to tense, not even wanting to break their gaze to kiss her again.

"Ron," she whispered, and the next sound she made was a shaky scream, the hand above her head clenching into a fist as he swore and came inside her.

All he could hear were the sounds of their mingling breaths, and all he could feel was his whole body turning to jelly and his heart pounding behind his ribs. He'd figured out exactly how to collapse on top of her without crushing her. So, he did it, just as he let go of her wrist and her arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders. He closed his eyes and buried his face against the side of her neck.

Eventually, he slid off of her, to his stomach, arm draped heavily across her.

"Remember when I said you should visit more often?" she said, through a grin.

He laughed, opening his eyes to stare across at her. God, he loved her.

"Will you stay with me at Grimmauld Place for your holiday?" he asked, in a deep, raspy voice.

"Yes," she said, without hesitation.

Pushing his luck, he swallowed and lifted his head, dragging his hand up over her breast to touch her cheek.

"Will you move in with me after you're done with school?"

She laughed and nodded, licking her bottom lip.

"Yes, please."

He propped all the way up on his elbow to stare down at her in awe.

"Really?"

"Of course."

Right. He wasn't supposed to be surprised by this, anymore. She loved him. She wanted him. She wasn't going to leave him.

"Please, don't worry," she said, gently.

They moved to sit up at the same time, but he scooted closer immediately to pull her in for a hug. She bent her knees up behind his back and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

"I worry, too, you know," she admitted, in a small voice, "that you'll meet some beautiful Auror in your training and realise how much better you can do."

He shook his head, suddenly feeling quite tired and delirious.

"There's no such thing as better," he said, confidently.

She pulled back to meet his eyes before leaning in again and kissing him softly.

"Any time you wonder if I really love you, remember what you just said, because I feel the say way. Always have, always will."

He rested his forehead against hers for several breaths before she spoke again.

"I should probably get back up to the castle, before everyone's up for breakfast."

They separated reluctantly and got dressed, and he wondered if maybe he'd still feel as calm about trying to sleep by the time he got home.

"Oh, I should get you something, to help you sleep," she said, as if reading his mind, as she pulled on her cloak.

"I may be alright," he said, blinking his burning eyes. "Can't possibly stay awake much longer."

"But you might _not_ be alright, later," she pointed out, and she was probably right. He followed her out onto the snowy grounds again, heading for the front gate.

"Wait here, and I'll get it for you." She stood up on her toes to kiss him quickly before she turned and walked briskly back up to the castle.

He was swaying slightly, from exhaustion, by the time she returned.

"It's not magic, it's just herbal tea," she said, as she handed him a small packet. "But it makes me feel happy and relaxed. I don't know why. I just really like the taste. Maybe you will, too."

"It'll work, I reckon," he said, smiling as he took it from her. "I'll just think about you."

She gazed up at him for a long, tranquil moment before he ducked to kiss her, just one more time.

"Same time next weekend?" she grinned. "Oh, but there's Quidditch-"

"I'm coming to that," he said.

"Oh, good!"

"Got off work and everything."

She pressed her gloved hand to his cheek, and he closed his eyes briefly before she backed away.

"See you soon," she said, quietly.

But this was always the hardest part, not just because they wouldn't see each other for a few days when they separated, but because he never could quite make the last kiss, or the last touch, truly be the last one.

He looped his arm around her neck and tugged her against his body, hugging her tight for a long moment before finally exhaling heavily, realising he'd be risking splinching himself if he didn't Apparate now, before he fell asleep standing up.

"Go on, then," she whispered, and he nodded, turning around and walking out through the gates before he could change his mind.

* * *

Her tea _was_ delicious, and he was drifting in that hazy half-sleep where dreams and reality blurred together. Only, this time, he didn't see what he'd come to expect. Instead, he saw only a pleasant, velvety darkness, cut only by the beautiful, floating sound of her voice, gently calling his name.


	5. Charcoal

_**A/N:** Is the phrase "this spiraled out of control" becoming my tagline? 4K words, and I hazily remember thinking I was gonna do 100 drabbles… __Also, I'm getting loose with ideas for surfaces/locations for them to shag on… or in. Hopefully this one is fun and new. I honestly thought, at literally three different places in writing this fic, that I was about to cut it off. And then, I didn't._

 _Also, also… gosh, I want someone to invent a charcoal/campfire perfume (why do I feel like someone is going to Google this and send me a link?)._

 _Onward to the lengthy & smutty fic! Hope you enjoy! x_

* * *

 _ **Prompt: charcoal**_

 _Prompted by:_ _idearlylovealaugh_

* * *

In the eighteen and a half years Hermione had known her father, she had never known him to care one bit about camping. They had taken a few family holidays, in the distant past, to ski or to hike, but it had always been her mother's idea to try something new, and her father would never express an opinion one way or the other.

Now, it was nearing the end of May, and the mild Australian weather had inspired him to suggest that they all take the weekend to camp in the woods by Johanna Beach, a favourite spot of his, discovered during his frequent travels with colleagues he'd met over the past ten months living in Melbourne. Hermione had just started to settle into relief that she'd had her parents back for merely a week and that they seemed to already be coming around to what she had done… her father much more than her mother, but she'd always expected this, anyway.

So, they'd set off together - Hermione, her father, and Ron - following a caravan of four families her father often spent time with on weekend getaways. She was impressed that he'd managed to explain her sudden appearance, and keep up his new identity with his friends, by introducing her as his daughter who worked in secrecy, for the government, in London. Ron had been introduced as a colleague, and she'd had to quietly correct her father, flushing, by explaining that he was actually her boyfriend.

It still felt so strange to call him that, and she'd hardly said it out loud, but it had been three weeks - Merlin, only _three_? - and she wasn't going to spend any more time pretending she wasn't in love with him. Her father had been more understanding than she could have possibly expected, even providing them with their own tent…

And now, Hermione was watching her father light charcoal in a firepit like he'd been doing it his whole life.

"Ron, hand me that grate, would you?" he said, gesturing toward a metal rack resting against a tree trunk.

Ron raised a brow pointedly at Hermione, who bit her lip as she repressed a grin, silently sharing in his teasing that they'd have made out much better with some of her father's Muggle gear during their six month stretch living a tent.

In less than an hour, he had managed to cook up a feast of delicious food, and they sat in pink and orange evening light, around a crackling fire, with plates of steak and vegetables and cans of West End Draught.

"Reckon this beats nicking eggs from farms and eating grass, yeah?" Ron said, leaning close to her ear to speak under the laughter and conversation of the dozen people who were sharing their campsite.

"Should've brought my dad along with us last year," Hermione laughed, leaning against Ron's shoulder.

"Never thought we'd camp again, really…"

"It doesn't bother you, does it?" she asked, suddenly unsure as she lifted her head again to look at him.

"Nah," he shook his head, his mouth full of food. He chewed, swallowed, and grinned at her. "We're not sharing a tent with anybody else, this time…"

She laughed again and huddled closer to him, linking her arm through his. It wasn't exactly cold out, but, as the sun moved lower, a comfortably mild chill settled in, and she was looking forward to their sleeping bags. She closed her eyes as her cheeks flushed, warming her skin, at least. Or was it the second beer she'd had? Ron reached for a third, and she eyed him sceptically.

"Gotta keep up with your dad," he explained, shrugging.

"You'll lose, I'd bet," she said, glancing over at her father's four empty cans.

"He's having a good time," Ron agreed, draping his arm casually over her shoulders.

"God, I'm so relieved," she sighed. "Though I'm not sure how I'll convince him to move back home. He loves it here."

"So, we'll just come visit them, whenever you want," Ron suggested, taking a long swig of his drink.

She hadn't thought this far into the future, to even consider what Ron's view was on any of this. And it made her heart suddenly impossibly light to hear him talk about it like he would always be with her.

"We?" she teased, and he met her eyes with a suddenly nervous half-smile. He probably hadn't even thought about what it would mean to her, but it was too late. She probably shouldn't have called him out, but she was too giddy about how close they'd already become and how strong his feelings apparently were for her to stop herself.

"Yeah, y'know… if you want."

She smiled happily and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. His hand gripped her wrist as she backed away, and she could feel his shaky breath on her face before she lowered her head to his shoulder again and closed her eyes, wondering how long they'd have to wait before they could politely retreat to their tent for the night…

* * *

It turned out to be only another hour before several other people had the same idea, making it much less abrupt for Hermione to hug her father goodnight. Low conversation continued at the other side of the campsite as they zipped up inside their small tent and took off their coats. Hermione discreetly lit their lantern with magic before hiding her wand in her bag again.

"Muggle tents sure are smaller than magic ones," Ron pointed out, as he awkwardly bent his legs up to strip off his socks.

"Am I crowding you?" she asked, pushing a foot against his arm.

"No," he grinned, grabbing her ankle and pulling. She squealed as she fell backward on top of her sleeping bag. His fringe swept forward as he let her go to crawl up over her, supporting himself on his forearms.

She dug her knee up against his thigh, and he ducked to kiss her.

"Hold on," she laughed, realising he wasn't getting the message. "My jeans are all twisted."

"Oh," he laughed, kissing her quickly on the mouth before rolling off of her to his back.

She reached down to unbutton them, still lying on her back. Lifting her hips, she tugged them down, sitting up to work them off her legs. She could feel him watching her as she folded them neatly and set them to the side. But, then, she heard his belt clanging as he took of his own jeans, and she turned to look over her shoulder as he hilariously kicked his legs to free them.

She was torn between smiling at how adorable it was and feeling a rush of thrilling nervousness at the thought of stripping off their clothes together in a tiny tent. She briefly wondered if it was considered "moving fast" to have already seen each other naked, several times, after only three weeks together, but she really didn't care…

Turning around, she settled on her stomach, next to him, pushing his arm further out so she could slide up against his side, tilt her head, and kiss him properly. One of his hands spread across her back while the other worked its way into her hair. She felt the vibration of a low moan rumbling through his chest as she opened her mouth against his and slipped her tongue between his lips.

She never grew tired of kissing him. Never. She could probably do it all night if she didn't feel the need to at least get his shirt off, at some point… and he clearly had a similar idea as his hand started working its way up the back of her shirt to spread over bare skin.

She finally pulled back and sat up, and he did the same as she licked her lips and silently asked for permission she didn't really think she needed. Her hand played with the hem of his shirt, and he bent an arm over his shoulder to help her, tugging it over his head as she scrambled to pull it the rest of the way off and toss it behind her.

He raised a brow at her, the corner of his mouth curving up.

"Not gonna fold that?"

"Shhh…"

She grinned as he reached for her shirt now, pulling it up her body as she raised her arms over her head. Her hair frizzed with static, and he threw her shirt in the vague direction of their growing pile of clothes. She climbed boldly into his lap, ignoring the burning blush across her cheeks and down her neck as he held her on top of him, swearing under his breath as he kissed her again, slow and deep. She wasn't sure what she loved more - those frantic, can't-get-enough kisses, or the ones that lasted for long, lazy minutes as their hands softly explored warm skin.

Eventually, he moved away from her mouth to attach his lips to her ear.

"I have an idea," he mumbled.

"Hm?"

He pulled back to look at her, lowering his hands to her bare thighs.

"Do you hear that?"

She listened closely for a minute, but she heard nothing aside from the noises of the night, crickets chirping, and the distant, rhythmic sounds of the waves gently crashing against the beach below their camp.

"What?" she asked, softly, reaching up absentmindedly to play with an overgrown chunk of ginger hair behind his ear. "I don't hear anything."

He smiled at her.

"Exactly. Everyone's gone to bed."

"And?"

"What if we went down to the beach? Reckon no one's out there, yeah?"

"You mean to swim?" she asked, considering it a rather brilliant idea, actually. How many nights had she thought of waking him and silently coaxing him to follow her out to the beach at Shell Cottage? She'd never got up the courage, of course, and there had been too much on her mind, then.

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"Let's go," she agreed, climbing off his lap. His fist clenched in the sleeping bag next to him as she shifted over his crotch.

"Yeah, I might need a minute." He cleared his throat as she watched him. "Just in case someone _does_ see us, y'know?"

"Sorry," and she did try to hide her smile, but she was entirely unsuccessful.

"Girls are so lucky," he groaned.

"Well," she said, trying her best to ignore the sudden increase in her heart rate and the fluttering that roared to life in the pit of her stomach, "I've got an amendment to your idea…"

"What's that?" he asked, clearly trying not to look directly at her, in an effort to calm down a bit.

"If you can just… make it down to the beach, we can pick up where we left off, out in the water…"

His eyebrows shot up.

"You have to have thought of that, already…" she reasoned, and his expression turned mildly shy.

"Yeah, alright…"

"Come on, then," she laughed, handing him his shoes before she put on her own.

She grabbed a hold of his hand, crawling to the tent entrance, in only their underwear. She didn't see much point in getting dressed when they would be in the water in a minute, and she would admit, only to herself, that the idea of sneaking around with him, mostly naked, was more than a little bit thrilling…

She unzipped the tent very cautiously before dropping his hand to duck outside and stand. He followed her, took her hand again, and they moved around the edge of the camp, as quietly as possible.

Someone's foot snapped a twig and they laughed, attempting to stifle it, but still making way too much noise. But, she couldn't bring herself to care, as they scurried the rest of the way around, laughing louder as they put some distance between the campsite and their destination. Finally, heading down the last slope, out of the trees, she let go of him and ran ahead, toeing off her shoes at the edge of the sand. He copied her, and they went straight for the waves, cold water rushing up her legs as she took them further out. At last, with the sea rising up to her shoulders, she turned to face him, and he grabbed her around the waist. She yelped in surprise, wrapping her arms around his neck as a wave buoyed them slightly.

Before she'd thought about what she was doing, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and his hands moved down to hold her arse as she closed her eyes, dropped her head to his neck, and pressed the front of her body tight to his. Another wave lifted her higher against him, and she felt a sort of unexplainable pleasure mingle deeply with safety as he held her.

Shivering only slightly, she wound a hand up the back of his head, fingers cutting through his damp hair. He smelled of charcoal and sea air… and Ron. She wondered if this might be her new favourite combination of all, but then anything plus him was going to be better than anything else.

She sighed, happily, as one of his arms snaked up her back, covering so much of her skin with his strong forearm.

"Ron-" she started, because she wanted to say the words she'd not managed yet, but her legs were tight around his waist, supporting her with help from the water, and he leaned back to catch her eyes. Staring back at him, moonlight reflecting in beautiful blue, she nearly forgot what she was going to say, until he said it first.

"I should probably tell you… I- I love you."

She laughed, a rolling feeling of lightness passing through her chest to her limbs as he stared at her.

"You won't believe this, but-" She paused, studying his now-quizzical expression. "-I was honestly about to say exactly the same thing to you."

"Really?" His lips twitched up.

She nodded, grinning as she kissed him, clutching his face in both hands. When she pulled back-

"I love you, Ron."

He smoothed her wet hair back from her face, smiling as he kissed her again. Waves churned pleasantly around them, and it felt almost like they were truly alone in all existence, out here, in the dark.

"Brilliant idea, this," he muttered against her lips, as she arched her body closer to his, feeling how much he wanted her.

" _Your_ idea," she said, as she withdrew her mouth for a breath, moaning as his hand covered her chest through her bra.

"I think we've moved on to your amendment," he pointed out, pinching her nipple through wet satin.

She shuddered, his erection pressing through two thin layers of soaked cotton, between her legs.

"Want you," she muttered.

"I can help with that," he breathed, sliding a hand between their bodies to touch her, over her knickers. She jolted in his arms, attaching her mouth to his jaw and lightly biting her way up.

"Not just that," she said, in a strained voice. "I've been taking a contraceptive potion since we left Hogwarts."

His hand froze, and he pulled back to stare at her.

"What?"

"Don't you want to?"

"Ha!" His hand moved again, under her knickers this time. "Yeah. Yeah, let's do that."

He slid a finger inside her, and she gulped in a startled breath. Her heel dug into his back, and he trembled with something she distantly recognised as restraint.

"Don't you want a bed, or something?" he slurred, clearly pretty far past too many more logical arguments.

"Don't care about that," she breathed.

"Should I stop questioning-"

"Yes, you should," she squeaked, as a second finger joined his first.

"Fuck, you feel amazing."

"It'll feel even better when you-"

He crushed her mouth with a searing kiss, removing his hand from her to hold her tighter. She reached through his pants, and he dragged his mouth away from her, lips between her teeth for a second before she let go.

"Think it'll hurt you less in the water?" he muttered, and she thought she could feel his heart pounding wildly as she wrapped her hand around him. "Fucking hell."

"One way to find out," she encouraged, and he tugged her knickers to the side. She met his eyes and nodded, and he pushed partway inside of her, his forehead creased, overwhelmed. She tightened her legs around his hips, tensing slightly before he completely filled her.

"Fuuuck."

"Oh, God…"

She wound her hands up the back of his head again, and her nails dug into his scalp. He shuddered and held her waist in both hands. She hadn't actually expected it to feel this good, the first time, but beyond the pain was an immensely building desire, and she had read enough books to know it had helped that they'd been doing basically everything else but actual sex for the last few weeks.

"Okay?" he asked, adorably.

"Keep going."

With nothing solid to push back against, she couldn't do much but shift her hips, but that seemed to be accomplishing plenty. And he could only use his hands, behind her, to hold her against him. It was strange and mesmerising, the way the waves moved them, moonlight reflecting off the swaying surface of the water. And she almost felt she could be floating in a dream, fragments of pleasure and mild pain, as he tried so hard to be careful, but it was still perfect. She imagined it would be no matter where they were, because she had the right person, the only person… She only wanted this with him. She always had.

"Hermione, I-"

"Go on," she whispered, kissing him slowly as she felt him tense before he was shaking noticeably, making a sound between a growl and a moan, into her mouth.

They finally separated, panting, and she dropped her feet to the ocean bottom. He clutched her hand and leaned back slightly, caught in weightlessness by the waves.

"God. I had no idea _anything_ could feel that good."

She sniffed and held his face with her free hand.

"Neither did I."

He eyed her sceptically, but she smiled wider.

"I just… I r-really do love you," she said. "Always wanted that to happen with you."

"Yeah?"

She nodded.

"Me, too," and he tugged her against him to kiss her softly.

As their lips separated, she blinked slowly up at him, propelled by a stronger, breaking wave, as they had drifted back closer to the shore. She felt almost near tears, from the weight of her love and relief over being alive, relief that he was here with her and wanted her, too.

"Got another idea," he breathed, smirking lazily.

"What?" she smiled.

"It'll be easier in the tent, with your knickers off. I'll probably drown if I try to do it underwater…"

She blushed fiercely but laughed, gliding through the water with him as he moved backward.

"Looks like you might drown, anyway," she pointed out, as he closed his eyes.

"Yeah… let's… let's go back."

They made it to the shore before collapsing in the sand, grinning and stretching out on their backs, next to each other, still holding hands.

"Just a small break, and then, to the tent," he said, panting slightly.

"A _small_ break," she repeated, with emphasis, but it was quite beautiful here, stars stretching endless across the clear sky.

For several moments of comfortable silence, they stared up, and her mind drew the constellations they'd learned in astronomy. Eventually, he sat up, tugging her hand and convincing her to join him.

"We're completely covered in sand," she pointed out, thinking of her wand in her bag, back at the tent, realising that this was the first time she'd gone this long without it on her since the previous summer. She almost panicked, reminding herself fiercely that they were safe, as they stuffed their feet into their shoes and began the ascent to their camp.

"Here," he said, pulling her behind some trees just before they arrived. And, to her surprise, he was holding his wand, aiming it toward her.

"Where were you keeping that?" she whispered.

"Stashed it in my shoe before we came down."

Relief washed over her, and she sighed, leaning forward to hug him as he flashed her a confused smile. He'd made sure they were safe, and she never had to worry. It wasn't that she couldn't take care of herself, quite the opposite. But that somehow made his presence, his thought to bring his wand along with them without mentioning it, that much more comforting.

"Sorry," she sniffed, pulling back. "What were you going to do?"

"Thought I'd wash the sand off us before we get back in the tent."

She nodded and stepped back enough for him to rinse sand off her legs, her back, and her hair, with cool jets of clear water.

"Your turn," she said, once she was sufficiently clean.

He handed her his wand, and she felt immediately intimate using it, in a way she hadn't before, which was probably odd considering they'd just lost their virginity to each other in the ocean… but she smiled as she ran her hands through his hair to be sure most of the sand was gone before handing him his wand back and making their way to their tent.

Their camp was almost completely silent, aside from the soft sounds of nature, and no one seemed to have noticed their absence. They crawled back through the entrance to their tent, and Ron zipped it shut behind them.

It was ridiculous to be nervous, again, but a part of her loved it, didn't really want it to ever completely go away.

"Help with this?" she asked, indicating her bra straps before turning around so she was sitting on her knees with her back facing him. She lifted her chaotic mess of wet curls, tugging them over her shoulder.

She closed her eyes as his hands touched her skin, working the clasp free. Her bra fell into her lap, and she swallowed before turning around again. His eyes darted down across her naked chest, and his own chest moved heavily as he inhaled.

"That was fucking brilliant out there, _obviously_ , but I think we can do better with, y'know, an actual surface under you."

She licked her bottom lip and ran her hands slowly up his thighs.

"Are you saying you want to shag me again?"

"Oh, good idea!"

She laughed as he grinned and dropped his head to kiss her neck. She pulled him with her as she stretched out on her back, his hands roaming over her still-wet skin.

"Think I have other plans though, first," he muttered to her chest as he worked his way lower, and she recalled his suggestion from the ocean. A shudder of anticipation washed down her torso to gather between her legs.

* * *

She woke to the chirping of birds, at dawn, and the renewed smell of burning wood and charcoal, quiet voices floating toward them from the other side of camp. But she couldn't move, yet. She was sharing a sleeping bag, completely naked, with the person she wanted to be with for the rest of her life.

She smiled and closed her eyes, his warm body comforting her, chest to her back, arm draped over her waist, but his hand was lying there in front of her, veins and tendons and knuckles and freckles. She reached up, intending to take it, but she traced her fingertips over the curves of his fingers, first.

Was it really possible to love him more today than she had done the day before?

He stirred in half-sleep, hand moving blindly to take hers, and she laced their fingers as she felt him sigh contentedly behind her, vaguely kissing the back of her head through her wild, salty hair.


	6. I want kids, with you, only you

_**A/N:** So, when I received this prompt on Tumblr, it requested smut. I ended up writing well beyond drabble length, so I didn't have time to add smut to the end. I thought I might have time to add it before posting here on FFN, but my schedule has been insane, and I've been trying to get a little something ready for the flufffest over on Tumblr..._

 _Anyway! Here is the original text, with no additions yet. Maybe I'll still go back eventually and add the smut. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one!_

 _Also, this is probably my last chance to let everybody know that I'm about to be MIA for about 2.5 weeks. I think I'll be able to update next week from where I am, but, if not, I'll see you at the end of the month! x_

* * *

 _ **Prompt: "I want kids. With you. Only you."**_

 _Prompted by:_ _melimelrockswell1204_

* * *

"Fucking hell!"

His back slammed into the ground with enough force to both knock the wind out of him and potentially leave a few scary bruises for Hermione to find when he got home. A rock dug sharply into his shoulder blade, and he could see their attacker getting away.

"Hhharrry," he croaked, not quite able to suck in a proper breath. It was bloody fortunate that they could almost read each other's minds, because Harry met Ron's eyes from across the garden and almost moved toward Ron before realising what he was trying to convey and shifting his gaze to the cloaked figure who was already halfway over the stone wall that separated his property from an expanse of thick forest.

Harry's stunning spell hit the fleeing wizard square in the back, and he lost his grip, sliding down the wall to the ground, just as Ron managed to scramble to his feet and sprint toward him.

"Bastard!"

But their target recovered way faster than he should've, and his fist collided with Ron's jaw as Ron skidded to his knees in an attempt to capture him. Harry was behind him in an instant, but Ron simply ignored the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and slammed a forearm across the struggling wizard's throat, pinning him to the ground.

Harry's wand shot out to poke sharply against the man's temple.

"Don't bloody move," Harry commanded, and their captive froze, as they could hear the rest of their team making their way quickly around from the front of the estate.

* * *

He was lying in the infirmary, and he really wished they'd let him go. It wasn't that bad. Sure, his lip was swelling a bit, and his jaw was nearly fractured, and his back and ribs were aching… but, he was fine. Honestly. The healers had already administered all the potions he needed, so it was just a matter of time for them to kick in, and he'd rather not have Hermione show up here from work.

Too late, of course, as the door opened swiftly, and she stood on the other side, hair frizzing down from the bun she'd attempted with two broken quills, a hair elastic, and a good bit of wrangling, he was sure.

"Well, you're alive," she said, as she shuffled into the room and closed the door behind her, making her way to his bedside with a sharp sniff.

"It's really not bad," he said, moving to sit up further on the stack of pillows behind him as she stared, sighing.

"We have such different interpretations of 'not bad.'"

"Yeah, I know."

She sat in the chair close by his right, shoving loose hairs back from her face.

"I'm almost convinced it would be smarter to go stay with my parents for a few nights when you come home like this…"

"What?" he said, alarmed. "Why?"

"I don't know… maybe because I reward you too much for getting hurt. You come back, and I'm just relieved you're alive, so I take off work, and we spend several days at home together… I've been really busy lately, and I've missed you, honestly… but I'd rather it not come to this."

He blinked at her.

"That's… mental."

"I know it is."

"I wouldn't do that. Swear."

She took a deep breath, not breaking eye contact as he tried to send her additional reassurances, wordlessly.

"Yes, alright," she conceded. "I know. But you're the only one I can tell when I've got… mad ideas. Harry wouldn't understand, Ginny would roll her eyes at me…"

He smiled, and she returned it. Alright, so they were at least some of the same kinds of crazy. He knew that.

"We had a whole team with us," he explained. "I know it looks rough, but it wasn't life threatening."

She nodded, sighing as she dropped her bag to the floor and leaned against the side of his bed, finally taking his hand. He held hers back tightly, running his thumb across her knuckles.

"I honestly thought it wouldn't be that difficult for you and Harry to still be doing this," she admitted. "We spent so many years fighting together. But I think it's just because I'm not there with you, anymore, and I don't know what's happening, and it's like when you were at Shell Cottage and Harry and I were in the tent for weeks, and I didn't know if you were alive, or…"

"Yeah… I get it."

He squeezed her hand, and she scooted her chair a bit closer, until her knees were digging into the side of his bed.

"You can get in here." He lifted the corner of his blanket and raised a brow at her. "Don't think anyone's gonna set me free anytime soon. Might take a nap."

"I'm still not sure you deserve cuddling…" but she was grinning, so he budged over to give her space, and she dropped his hand to stand.

She moved her chair out of the way and sat on the edge of his bed, reaching down to take off her shoes.

"Oh, before I forget… George gave me a shift at the shop on Saturday," he yawned. "Gonna be bloody busy there with a million kids home from Hogwarts. Might have to hide in the back 'stocking the shelves' if they gang up on me with questions like last weekend…"

"Reminds me how you used to tell first years to bugger off so you could have their seat in the common room…"

He laughed as she raised a brow at him and took off her cloak.

"Think you might change your mind eventually and decide it wouldn't be so bad to have a baby?" she asked, in an oddly quiet voice.

She was rather fiercely avoiding looking at him, but he could see how red her cheeks had gone from her profile.

"What're you on about? I want kids."

She turned to study him, closely.

"We've never properly talked about it. Do you really?"

He scratched his stubbly cheek and shrugged.

"Yeah, I didn't think about it when I was bloody seventeen, but now, with you…"

Was he imagining things, or had her breathing gone slightly uneven?

"Well," she said, hands suddenly shaking, "that's good, because I'm pregnant."

He clearly hadn't heard her right, but she looked terrified, and his heart was beating too fast.

"Say that again."

"You heard me."

He sat the rest of the way up, bringing their faces quite close together, and he stared at her, eyes wide. She really _was_. Shock made way for a tiny bit of growing excitement, mixed pretty heavily with love.

"Cool," he said, smiling.

"Seriously?!" She huffed and glared at him. "That's all you have to say?"

"I mean… what else is there to say?"

"I don't know! I thought we were being so careful, but then I think it was that bloody weekend when you came back after a fortnight, and we stayed in Edinburgh-"

"-and didn't leave that Muggle hotel the whole time?"

A tiny squeak of a breath slipped out between her parted lips.

"It was raining. A lot."

"Yeah, that was my reason, too…" he said, sarcastically, still smiling at her.

"You really think we can do this?" she asked, trembling.

"Yeah! Why the hell not?" But he knew she'd have a list of reasons prepared.

"We've planned literally nothing," she began, as predicted, "we don't even have an extra room at our flat, we aren't _married_ yet…"

"Who cares? We've been together seven years, your parents weren't married when _you_ were born, and my mum already introduces you as my wife…" He repressed a chuckle at her raised eyebrows.

"Okay…" she started, slowly, and he was pleased that he'd managed to shave off a visible layer of stress as she scooted closer to him and absentmindedly ran her fingers up and down his forearm. "But, what about work? We've both been so busy, and I've got a million reports to do this summer, not to mention that project they set me for the Department of Mysteries…"

"Would you trust me to do all the planning shite while you're working?" he asked.

"You don't have to-"

"Yeah, I know, but I will. I don't mind."

"George needs you for the Wheezes when you have a weekend off, and I'd feel terrible taking you away from that…"

"No way. He's gonna be happy to be an uncle, again. He'll give me time off… or, I'll just go ahead and quit the Aurors now instead of waiting til next year."

She stared at him for a long, silent moment.

"What?!"

"Yeah, didn't I tell you?" he teased. "I was planning to chuck this job once we got married."

She shook her head slowly, and he shrugged.

"We're both absolute rubbish at delivering news," she laughed.

"I really was gonna talk to you about it soon," he said, more seriously. "I've been wanting to leave for a while now, but I'd never do it unless you said it was a good idea."

"It's a good idea."

She grinned and leaned in to kiss him, softly, but he was too late to suppress a wince as her mouth put pressure on his swollen lip.

"Sorry!" she shouted, jolting back away from him.

He shook his head and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Come here," he mumbled, tugging her gently, and she crawled up to lie on her side, resting her head on his shoulder. He moved the tips of his fingers up and down her back, growing impatient again to get the hell out of St Mungo's and take her home.

"I trust you, for the record," she sniffed. "To plan everything, I mean."

But before he could respond, the door opened and Harry walked in, his hand bandaged but otherwise looking alright.

"Lucky git!" Ron complained. "They're letting you go?"

"Yeah, well, they said I could tell you the same," Harry said, "provided you take these."

He held up a paper bag and shook it. It was evidently full of potions Ron would have to continue, from home.

"Beats lying around here for another six hours. Ready?" He squeezed Hermione and she nodded against his shoulder before she sat up. "Oh, should we tell him?"

Hermione eyed Ron, nervously, but he gave her a casual half-smile, and she chewed her bottom lip.

"Tell him what?" Harry asked, impatiently.

"Hermione?" Ron prodded.

"Oh, go on." She swung her legs out of his bed and bent to put her shoes back on.

"Congratulations, you're gonna be an uncle… again," Ron said, but then he paused to contemplate. "And probably a godfather again, too, you reckon, Hermione?" He glanced back to Harry. "We didn't get around to talking about that bit yet."

Harry blinked at them as Hermione stood up and helped Ron out of bed. Standing with an arm around her shoulders, he watched realisation dawn across Harry's face.

"You're not fucking with me?"

"Nah," Ron laughed, "that'd be a stupid joke."

"Wow."

Harry ran a hand awkwardly through his hair.

"That's… yeah," he grinned. "That's great! Ginny'll be thrilled. Should I tell her?"

"I should probably be there for that," Hermione smiled, "and Ron, too-" she paused to narrow her eyes up at him, "-if he can hold it in for long enough to wait for us all to be in the same room."

"Sorry," he grinned, brushing his lips against her temple and ignoring the pain from his injury.

When he looked up again, Harry was extending his arms to wrap around them both, and Ron leaned in, patting Harry on the back with his free hand.

"George'll start his wagers the day we tell him the news. We should have a meeting beforehand to plan our strategy," Ron grinned, as the other two laughed.

George had started a pool on Harry and Ginny's son, from the moment he was announced, which included everything from hair colour to personality traits and even O.W.L. scores, not that he was getting at all ahead of himself.

"Right," Harry agreed, smiling, as he let go of Hermione and Ron. "We should get in on the ground, betting on frizzy ginger hair and perfect marks."

"Oh, God, I hope I don't pass my hair along-"

"I sure do," Ron cut in. "Maybe leave off the ginger bit."

"That's the best part!"

"Right. But she's gotta be a genius, _and_ play Quidditch, _and_ love sweets."

"She?" Harry and Hermione asked in unison.

"Whatever," he shrugged, feeling more than a little excited now.


	7. Christmas Present by The Rocket Summer

_**A/N:** So, I'm finally back home after a long trip abroad. Sorry for the delay in posting these here! I'm back on track now, hopefully. Will be posting on Tuesdays here after today._

* * *

 _ **Prompt: "Christmas Present" by The Rocket Summer**_

 _Prompted by:_ _remedial-potions_

* * *

It took him way longer than it should have to figure out why his left arm was asleep. A warm weight was pressing down on him, the back of her body against the side of his, and it wasn't yet dawn. He'd never imagined it could feel so amazing just to wake up with her like this, but now that he'd done it, forgetting the circumstances, he wasn't sure how he'd ever go back. He would have to keep that bit of information to himself, he reckoned, as he was just going to _have_ to figure out how to do it… and how to pull himself away from her to break into a fucking bank in a few hours.

He thought of how she'd appeared in the doorway several hours ago, nervously looking in on him where he was lying on top of his sleeping bag, on the floor. She hadn't spoken for a few moments, thinking he might be asleep, before she caught his open eyes staring up at her. Maybe it was knowing what was to come, how difficult and dangerous what they had planned would be. But he imagined it was something else, too, some sign that all their past was simply past, and they were running out of excuses to avoid the truth. He could never be sure, without the words, but he would gladly take any measure of comfort they could share, any closeness she would offer him.

He felt her inhale with surprised force, and then she reached up and touched the inside of his arm, surely not realising he was already awake.

"Hey," he whispered, knowing he would startle her but wanting, even more strongly, for her to look at him.

She jumped slightly and turned her head, but she still couldn't see him properly. Either way, he could spot the movement of her lips as she tentatively smiled.

"My arm's a bit asleep," he said, smiling back.

"Oh!" She sat up, quickly, too quick for him to stop her.

"It's fine," he said, hopeful, as he flexed his fist and shook it. "Come back?"

She stared at him, over her shoulder, expression morphing from shy and nervous to determined. She shifted around and laid back down, resting her head on his shoulder, facing him this time. Her slightly bent knees pressed against the side of his thigh. If he bent up his elbow, he could play with her hair, so he did it, forgetting to second guess.

He could hear Harry lightly snoring from across the room, and it was reassuring that he'd managed to get some sleep. They needed it, even though Ron was hypocritically glad that he'd woken up to be with her, like this, before-

She was staring at him, though he was having a hard time catching her eyes from her position. But then she sniffed and shifted up until her head was resting on the flat pillow, next to his. And, as he turned onto his side, toward her, he was momentarily caught off guard by how close their faces were. His arm was trapped underneath her neck, a long curl of her hair was twisted around his index finger, and she was smiling, so softly he could have missed it if he wasn't memorising every single detail of her face.

Not that he needed reminding. He'd burned the precise shape of her eyes, the curve of her jaw, the exact colour of pink of her lips into his mind, long ago.

She looked strangely peaceful, beneath that layer of nervous anticipation that he was sure she could see reflected right back at her. He'd wanted to kiss her approximately four thousand times before today, but, in that moment, he swore it was the strongest he'd felt it yet.

But then her expression changed completely, a gradual shift from present in the moment to apprehensive and uneasy. He knew it too well, that line that faded between distracted and drowning in reality.

"Do you really think we're ready for this?" she whispered, so softly.

But he didn't want to redraw the line, to remind them that happiness was only on the _other_ side. He didn't know what he thought, honestly, about what they had planned, but he was ready to do it, either way. He knew she was, as well. So, he nodded, staring back at her with every single feeling he could possibly convey.

Sod the war. Sod Gringotts. They could be happy, anyway.

He lifted his hand to her cheek and made the monumental choice to fight a different war, right there, between the person he had been for so long and the one who only existed in his fantasies of their future together.

He swiped his thumb across her cheek, watched too closely as she breathed through parted lips, and kissed the corner of her mouth. Her fist found the hem of his shirt and clenched it tight, nails briefly scraping his skin.

When he finally backed away, tears were silently streaming down her face, but she was smiling. She lifted her hand to his cheek to match his, tilting her head so their foreheads met as she closed her eyes.


	8. Dobby's grave

_**Prompt: Dobby's grave**_

 _Prompted by: Guest aka an anonymous reviewer on FFN_

* * *

It was the little things he did, without having to make an effort, that began to slowly wear her down. He didn't know, and that only made it harder to resist. She'd kept up a cool resolve against letting him feel fully forgiven, after he'd come back, but she couldn't fight, anymore. She didn't want to, anyway.

Screaming for her in a dungeon? That had not been a little thing. It had crashed into her, waves of truth, that he'd have died for her, in an instant. That maybe he… loved her. She couldn't think of that yet.

But now, she was huddled against his side, and his arm was around her. His hand was so warm on her shoulder, through the thin fabric of the dressing gown Fleur had given her. She was in so much pain - an aching, deep sort that drove into her with each breath. But they were here, together, though she could hardly recall how. Her memories of their escape from Malfoy Manor were blurred and incoherent, and, as she took in a shaky breath, she glanced down and saw Ron's bare, freckled feet.

Her mind was jumping at random through a series of unrelated things, evoking emotions she wasn't sure she could control for much longer. She was nearly desperate for an escape, a small corner of a dark room to sort things out. But Dobby was gone, and her eyes welled with unshed tears as she stared at the grave Harry, Ron and Dean had made.

Dobby was _gone_.

Luna spoke for everyone, and she felt Ron's intake of breath before he muttered a couple of quick words, as well. Her eyes were drawn back to his feet, and he flexed his toes in the dirt. She knew she was clinging to scraps to keep from openly crying, but she couldn't remember when he'd lost his trainers…

Harry asked to stay behind at the grave, and the rest of them silently followed Bill and Fleur back inside. But Ron paused with her in the entry as everyone else moved through to the sitting room.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, in a rough, low voice.

She stared up into his bloodshot, blue eyes, dark circles beneath them. She needed him, but she couldn't stand to see how much it hurt him, what had happened to her. It was strange, really, this feeling of fully accepting what she wanted, what she knew he meant to her. She'd tried too long not to show it.

"I'll be okay," she half-whispered. She wanted to say it was all because of him, but a question emerged instead. "Where are your trainers?"

"Oh." He glanced down at his own bare feet. "Gave them to Dobby," he admitted, quietly. "But I'm sure Bill's got some I can borrow-"

He let out a startled grunt as she pressed her body to the front of his and wrapped her arms around his waist. Once he'd managed to recover from surprise, he hugged her back, not as tight as she would have liked, but she knew he was just afraid to hurt her. The immensely comforting feeling of being in his arms was too much of a catalyst to hold back any longer, and she felt the tears streaking down her cheeks before she knew she was crying.

It was the little things, like giving up his only pair of trainers for a house-elf to wear in his grave. No one would ever see what he had done. No one would know.

She clutched the back of his shirt in both hands and closed her eyes, beautifully amazed by his bravery when she felt his face against the top of her head… the slight hint of what she thought might actually be considered a kiss through her ashy, tangled hair.

"Sure you're alright?" he asked, as he lifted his face and ran a hand through her frizzy curls, evidently mildly puzzled by her sudden affection.

She could only hope he felt all she wished she could say but lacked the words for yet, and she nodded against his chest before turning her head and pressing her nose up under his jaw. He sighed heavily, and she felt a bit of tension leaving his body as his hand drifted down, fingers spreading across her back.

"Thank you," she said, hoarsely, focusing on every meaning she could find in those two words - first, the ones he knew; and then, the infinite list of all she thought he probably didn't.

And, as she finally pulled back from him, she pondered if Ron's feet had outgrown Bill's trainers, and she managed a smile as she imagined Dobby's thankful yet confused voice at having received Ron's pair of _matching_ socks.


	9. To Build a Home by Cinematic Orchestra

_**A/N:** So, I have a weird (optional) hand canon, which is more just because of my obsession with hurt/comfort and less because I actually think this is how things went down, but I've been leaning a lot recently on the idea that Hermione's parents didn't come back from Australia, and, though she had been so independent for so long, this really crushes her because, before, it was her choice to be that way, and now it's like they're choosing to leave her on her own. So, Ron helps her through this a lot, even though he has his whole family around him, and he was closer to them than she was to hers, so he didn't develop quite the same independence, but he does that for her, without really thinking about it. In a way, this makes a lot of sense, because he's a real family sharer, you know? Like Harry was part of the family almost instantly. Hermione was, too, but in a very different way, until much later._

 _Long explanation. Sorry._

 _ **TL;DR** \- Ron is my favorite, here are 3K words about that. Hope you enjoy! x_

* * *

 _ **Prompt: "To Build a Home" by The Cinematic Orchestra (ft. Patrick Wilson)**_

 _Prompted by: herrmionejgranger_

* * *

Ron had just _finally_ walked through the door to Grimmauld Place after way too long a day at training. He had taken one arm out of his cloak, thinking of all the leftover food from the previous night's takeaway that he was going to consume, when Ginny's Patronus materialised by the coat rack.

 _Ron, come to Hogwarts if you can. Not an emergency._

The silvery horse in front of him galloped in a circle before vanishing.

Ron's arm immediately stuffed itself back into his cloak sleeve. He'd never really gone to Hogwarts on a whim. Visits were planned around invitations to school events like Quidditch trials and matches or Hogsmeade weekends. But he wasn't about to waste time worrying about the details of exactly how he was going to get through at half eleven on a Friday night. Ginny must have some sort of plan to have asked him to come. And the words "not an emergency" weren't registering very deep.

With a short, scribbled note to Harry to explain his disappearance, he headed back out into the crisp, February night.

* * *

She had found her way to a dark corner of the castle, hidden behind a tapestry. No one ever came by here, and she suspected the only other people who even knew it was here were Ron and Harry, who, of course, weren't going to be popping by any time soon.

She'd received a owl at dinner, transferred from Muggle post, and the words were burned into the backs of her eyelids, apparently, because she couldn't think of anything else. She'd managed to hold back for a couple of hours, but she could no longer ignore the growing void inside, reminding her how alone she was, how far away her parents were… that they weren't coming home. They'd chosen to stay in Australia, but she hadn't given up hope that they might change their minds. Give them time, she'd thought. They'd been through a lot. But, now, that hope was gone.

 _We've sold the house in London._

It still struck her as an impossible reality, but it was true, and she was here. And Ron was at Grimmauld Place, with Harry. God, she missed him. It seemed that every time she became consumed with loneliness over her parents, she would quickly think of Ron, and, tonight, with her mother's letter crumpled in her hand, she couldn't catch her breath. She had come here to hide, knees clutched to her chest, and she was running out of tears to shed, eyes burning, head throbbing, and a numb sort of misery washing over her in increasingly powerful waves.

There was a scrape of trainers down the corridor, on the other side from her hiding place, and she held her breath, waiting for whoever it was to please go away. But the sounds increased, and was that Ginny's voice?

Her eyes scanned up to stare at the dark, opaque tapestry a metre in front of her. And then-

"Hermione?" Ginny called, leaving no time for a reply before her hand pulled back the tapestry to reveal herself… and Ron, standing on the other side.

"Ron?!" Hermione cried, hardly believing he was right _there_.

He passed Ginny and crouched on the floor in front of her, and Ginny dropped the tapestry back in place, hiding them again.

"Hey."

He placed a tentative hand on her knee, and she stared back into his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"Ginny sent her Patronus. She thought maybe-"

He paused and shrugged.

"-maybe you'd want me to come see you."

"I have no idea how she knew I was upset, but oh my God, I'm glad you're here."

She gripped his hand tightly, and he gave her a sad smile in return.

"What's going on?" he asked, softly.

"My parents," she sighed, sucking in a breath as she held back another sob. "My parents sold their house."

He stared for a moment, looking puzzled, and she realised her mistake.

" _Our_ house," she corrected, "in London. It's g-gone. They aren't coming back…"

She held up the parchment, half crushed in her fist, allowing him to take it from her. He shifted to sit closer, opening the letter. As his eyes darted across the page, she could picture all the words written there as he was silently reading them…

 _Hermione,_

 _We've sold the house in London. Your father thought you should have a portion of the sale, so we've made a deposit into your savings account. The rest of your belongings will be transferred to our storage room in Surrey, and we'll leave a key in your safe deposit box at the bank. As always, visit any time. We're staying in the house in Adelaide for now._

 _Love, Mum_

"Well," Ron began, clearing his throat, "she sounds a bit more positive toward you than last time, at least."

"Ron, she sold our house!"

She knew it wasn't fair to shout at him. She could tell by the way his forehead creased that he was trying very hard to hide his true reaction, hoping to avoid making her feel any worse. But it wouldn't make a difference, and underneath what she felt about her parents, she really was so relieved to see him.

"I know. I'm sorry…" he said, eyes softening.

"I really thought they might still change their minds and come home," she sniffed, wiping tears from under her eyes as they fell.

He shifted even closer, so his legs were bent up by her back and his elbow was resting on her knee. His free hand pulled one of hers into his lap, and he ran his fingertips up and down her palm before threading their fingers and meeting her eyes.

"They should have talked to you before they did it," he said, quietly.

"It's my fault. I sent them away to begin with."

"You know what I'm gonna say to that."

"I did it for them, to save them, I know," she said, managing a small smile as her eyes blurred with tears again. "But now…"

She closed her eyes for a second and gripped his hand tighter.

"I don't even have a home, anymore. Aside from Hogwarts and holidays with your family, I've lived there my whole life, Ron."

"Yeah," he said, a bit hoarsely.

He might have been about to say more, but her thoughts shifted suddenly back to the details of his appearance.

"How'd you even get in here this late?"

"Ginny met me at the gates to let me through," he explained.

"And she knew I was up here?"

"Nah, this was about the tenth place we checked," he said, tugging the corner of his mouth up precisely enough to be considered a lopsided smile.

She sighed and ducked her forehead to his forearm, his elbow still resting on her knee. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles before dropping her hand to run his fingers through her hair.

"I owe Ginny," she muttered.

"No way," Ron countered. "Already told her she's still working off the Viktor Krum thing… She'll have to sneak me into Hogwarts a few more times to even us out."

In spite of everything, Hermione actually heard herself laugh, and she was once again so relieved to have him next to her.

"What are _you_ doing to make _us_ even for that, then?"

"Dunno. What'd'you want?"

She turned her head to the side, cheek against his forearm, so she could see his face through a frizzy tangle of her hair.

"Sneak into Hogwarts a few more times," she suggested, softly.

"Done."

She stared at him quietly, for a while, calmed by the feeling of his hand continuing to play with her hair. But there was still a dark shadow, looming over her.

"It just doesn't seem real," she said. "Don't know why I kept hoping they'd…" She paused, closed her eyes again. "And now I've got to figure out what to do when I leave here."

Though she couldn't see him, she could feel a sort of tension emanating from him before he spoke.

"I've got some ideas on that," he said, in a low voice.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head, and his hand dropped to the side of her neck.

"Like what?"

Her heart was beating a bit faster than she could make sense of, just yet.

"You could move in with me and Harry," he suggested. "Or… we could get our own place, if you want…"

He licked his bottom lip nervously, but she felt suddenly so much lighter. Smiling, she laid her arm across his, fingertips on his knuckles.

"Really?"

"Yeah," he smiled back, evidently encouraged by her positive response. "I know it's not the same, and it's not what you wanted, but-"

"It's definitely what I want. I hadn't thought living with you was on the table back when I was planning to go home after Hogwarts…"

"Well…" he shrugged, "I just hadn't got around to mentioning it."

"You aren't just offering because I don't have anywhere to go?" Her voice was a bit higher pitched than she would have liked, but she was mostly over the idea of being embarrassed around him. Mostly.

"Not at all, but you can pretend I'm being _that_ generous, if you want," he grinned.

"I'd much rather you not be, honestly…"

His hand moved against the side of her neck, and her eyelids fluttered for a moment. Her head was still throbbing and her eyes were burning, and all she wanted was to crawl into a cozy bed and fall asleep next to him.

"I love you," she whispered. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Love you, too," he said, just before he closed the gap and kissed her.

It was so soft and gentle, and her hands moved together to his cheeks, warmth spreading through her as she felt his familiar stubble, her bottom lip between his. It was over too soon, but then he was wrapping an arm around her and she was half-sitting in his lap as she realised her tears were back again, damn them.

She clutched his shirt, her head on his shoulder, until finally, her eyes popped open.

"Oh, my books!"

She felt him inhale before he spoke.

"What?"

"My parents emptied the house, which means they've moved the rest of my books, and they're all crammed in that horrible, damp storage room!"

"Oh. I could go rescue them, bring them back to Grimmauld Place and keep them in my room til you graduate-"

"Seriously?" She lifted her head from his shoulder to stare at him in awe.

"Yeah," he shrugged, slightly puzzled by her reaction. "Why the hell not? I've got extra space."

"You never have any idea when you're being bloody amazing, do you?"

She kissed him again before he could respond, but he caught up quickly and spread his hand up the back of her head, tangling in her hair.

Slowly pulling apart, moments later, she gazed at him and considered that her tears had finally stopped…

"Is it just me saying the _word_ 'books'?" he teased, grinning as she rolled her eyes playfully.

"Oh, but the _key_ to the storage room," she said, expression changing to disappointed as she remembered. "It's in a safe deposit box, and you won't be able to get it."

"You can't just… let them know to expect me?"

"Doesn't work like that. It's like a Gringotts vault, aside from the dragons…"

He smiled at her joke but then returned to an expression of contemplation, trying to work out the problem…

"Hang on. This is a Muggle bank, yeah? And you realise I'm a _wizard_?"

"What, are you going to Polyjuice into me and then-"

He raised a brow, and she realised it was an actual solution, though slightly insane.

"Can't promise I won't have a look while I'm changing clothes," he smirked, and she smacked his arm.

"That's a lot of work for you just to save my books…"

"Nah, sounds like a normal Tuesday afternoon when you think about our lives so far, y'know?"

She laid her head on his shoulder again, breathing more steadily than she had all evening as his arm tightened around her. She thought about the shore, near her parents' new house in Australia, and the evenings she had spent there with him, in silence. He'd held her, just like this, and she'd realised not only did she love him more than she'd thought was possible to love anyone, but that she was going to spend the rest of her life with him, as long as he never changed his mind. Fortunately, she'd been _nearly_ convinced that he felt the same way, and his suggestion to live together in a few months was going to be a bright spot at the end of everything else.

She closed her eyes and listened to the steady sounds of his own breathing as she drifted farther and farther away from Hogwarts and crumpled letters from Australia…

* * *

When she opened her eyes again, she was surrounded by maroon and gold and flickering candlelight. Slowly regaining awareness, she realised she was lying on the common room sofa with a very cozy blanket over her, and she remembered she'd just been sitting on the floor behind a tapestry with-

"Hey."

He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa, holding an open book.

"What…" she started, trying to piece together how she'd gotten here and how long she must have slept.

"Yeah, you fell asleep, so I brought you back here. Ginny gave me the password earlier. Almost forgot I couldn't take you up to your room." He smirked as she blinked at him. "Would've been a fun way to wake up, sliding down the stairs with me…"

"No way you _carried_ me…"

"Why? Wasn't that far, and you weigh close to nothing."

"Liar," and she sat halfway up to investigate the book in his lap.

"Want me to prove it?" he suggested, closing the book, evidently unaware of her query, and crawling to his knees, shoving an arm under her. She laughed too loudly for the common room after midnight and wriggled away from him, but he tightened his grip and tugged her to the edge of the sofa.

"Stop!" she shrieked. He gently covered her mouth with his hand, laughing, and her eyebrows shot up, suddenly aware of how loud she was being.

"Wanna get me kicked out?" he whispered, now being overly cautious, but still smiling. She shook her head, and he removed his hand, releasing her waist and sitting back on the floor.

She pressed her lips together, eyes slightly widened, and he grinned, abandoning his retreat and sitting right back up on his knees again to kiss her. She gripped his shirt and closed her eyes, kissing him back until his lips parted from hers very slowly.

"Sorry," he whispered against her mouth before he settled back again, leaving a hand on her arm. She stared at him for several dazed seconds before remembering.

"Oh, what book were you reading?"

"Hm? Oh, right."

He reached over to where he'd dropped it to the floor and picked it up again to show her.

"Fell out of your bag when I _picked you up_."

She shook her head at him in mock offense, and he shrugged.

"Anyway, I didn't want to leave just yet, but I was bored as hell and couldn't risk falling asleep, so…"

"So, _that's_ what it takes for you to read."

He hit her leg lightly with her own book, but she grabbed it and turned it to see what it was.

"You're reading a Muggle fiction book?"

"Same question to you," he said, raising a brow. "Have you run out of material in the Hogwarts library?"

"Shut up. I do occasionally read fiction… _occasionally_."

"Right, so what's this one about? You woke up before I got past the first page."

"I should make you wait to find out…"

She stretched out on the sofa, face level with his shoulder as he leaned back again and opened the book to the first page.

"Ron?" she said, in a very quiet voice.

"Hm?"

"My mum used to read this to me, but I didn't care for it when I was little. I would get bored and want to read something else. When we went back to the house, after Australia, I thought I'd try it again, but I haven't started it yet. I wasn't really fair to it, the first time… and I think Mum really… really loved this one."

He turned to fully face her, resting his arm against the sofa and still holding onto the book, open across his knees. And, as she gazed back at him, eyes watering a bit again, he took her hand and cleared his throat.

"Chapter one…"


	10. Morning bliss

_**Prompt: Morning bliss**_

 _Prompted by: fairgirl_

* * *

He was aware of someone in the room with him before he was fully awake, and, as he opened his eyes, all he could see, at first, were hers, staring back at him.

He'd left his door partly open, the night before, in case anyone needed him. It was their first day home, and it was more than a little bit strange that the war was over and he was back in his old bed… Now, early morning light was glowing through his window, behind her, and he considered, for a short second, that he was almost completely naked, wearing only his pants, and uncovered, lying on his stomach. She licked her lips in a nervous sort of way, and his eyes darted down, before he could help himself.

"Hi," she whispered.

She was sitting on the floor next to his bed, and his right cheek was pressed against his pillow, making their faces level across a brief expanse of narrow mattress.

"Hey."

He considered sitting up to acknowledge her properly, but he was too mesmerised by her gaze.

"You alright?" she asked, gently.

A part of him was and another part might not be, possibly not for a good, long while. But, he wanted to focus, just now, on the first part… on her.

"Yeah. You?"

She swallowed and nodded, eyes never leaving his.

"Your door was open," she added, as if needing the excuse to be here.

"I know."

He moved his hand between their faces, reaching out for a long, twisted curl of her hair. He rubbed it between his thumb and index finger, and she broke eye contact to glance down at his hand.

"I couldn't really sleep," she said, eyes fixed on his fingers.

"You've been up all night?"

Her silence was enough of an answer, and he considered the bridges he probably should have crossed after dinner, the night before, rather than leaving them til the morning after a stretch of dark, sleepless hours. Not that he thought he could fix it. But… maybe they could help each other, anyway. She could have stayed with him, if she'd wanted.

Plus, there was that giant fact that he just wanted to be with her, as often as she would let him.

He dropped his hand back to his bed, contemplating what came next, but then her fingertips were on his knuckles, and she lowered her chin to the edge of his mattress, eyes on his again. He wanted to kiss her, so badly. He'd only managed to do it once, the previous afternoon, and they'd been interrupted by his sister as she'd tried to find a quiet place to talk to Harry.

"I'm not bothering you, am I?" she asked in a small, tentative voice. And he realised just how long he must have been lying there, thinking.

"Course not," he said, and he pushed over to his side, still facing her, mentally hesitating only for a second again at his current state of undress. She didn't seem to mind, and, in fact…

His eyes flicked to the bit of bed between them, and she sat up further on her knees… and, bloody hell, she was wearing a tiny, thin vest under a dressing gown that might as well have been made of tissue paper…

Two excuses popped into his mind, but he immediately discounted the first option, of her maybe being cold and needing warming up, because it was near one million degrees in his room, at the moment… And the second excuse had to be discarded as well, because he suspected it would be obviously redundant to imply that maybe she needed comforting, if she wasn't okay. Her eyes were dry, and her expression was a mingled combination of curiosity and nervousness.

It was too early to think of more options, so he cleared his throat and went straight to the point.

"Wanna come up here?"

She left exactly zero seconds between his question and her climbing up into his bed. She shifted around for a moment, and the obvious answer to the problem of where to put their limbs was to line them up with her back to his chest. He actively willed himself not to think about how small her pyjama shorts were and how much of his skin was pressed against hers, and he draped an arm over her waist before he could mentally talk himself out of it.

It was like clicking in the final piece to a jigsaw puzzle or calling out a checkmate. He could only hope she felt the same way, because it had become immediately impossible to imagine ever lying in a bed again without an arm around her.

She ran her fingers over his knuckles and snuggled further back against him… which would have been brilliant, except now he had to think about there really not being sufficient layers between them to hide anything at all… only, he could remind himself, she didn't seem to care. Her vest had ridden slightly up her torso, and he felt a bit of bare stomach against his forearm. There was no going back, if this was the sort of morning it was possible to have.

"I closed your door," she whispered, and he grinned into her hair, letting his eyes slip shut.

He tugged her just a bit tighter against him, she tangled their fingers together, and he refused to believe her words meant anything aside from the fact that she'd planned to stay for as long as he wanted her to stay, which, he hoped she knew, was something in the neighbourhood of one full lifetime.


	11. Gingers are beautiful

_**Prompt:**_ _ **Gingers are beautiful (gif from Game of Thrones)**_

 _Prompted by:_ _mozstermoments_

* * *

They'd been lying in the grass for such a long time, just talking, and she couldn't remember falling asleep. But, as she opened her eyes, the world settled around her with a peaceful, evening breeze, and his hand was in hers, fingers woven and lightly clasped as he kept on dreaming. Tall blades of overgrown grass tickled her cheek as she turned onto her side to stare at the gentle lines of his face.

She'd seen him so many times before, of course, a constant in her life from the age of twelve, really. But it was different now. The way they'd been as children seemed a distant memory, in some ways, only an echoing wave of words and awkwardness still leftover. Now, they were adults. They'd survived more than she cared to think about. And the distance from that first kiss til now, though merely a few days time, had fully closed the gap between unresolved longing and becoming close enough to feel like part of the same person. She had no way to explain it, but as she continued to gaze across the dandelions and weeds of the Burrow's stretching fields, the butterflies in her stomach moved over to make room for belonging.

His hair brushed across his forehead in the breeze, low golden light glinting in copper and a few strands of that deeper shade of ginger that she couldn't name. It was just him, really. There was no other word for it.

She carefully extracted her hand from his and pushed up to her elbow, resting her cheek on her palm to get a better view of him, hovering halfway over his face. She had a growing urge to trace his nose, his jaw, his lips, with her fingertips… but he was so peaceful, in sleep, and she didn't want to disturb him. His eyelids were nearly see-through, tiny blue and purple veins in milky white, but they were tinged red from soft crying, earlier, and she couldn't drag him back there, drifting her gaze to his parted lips, his gentle inhale, exhale…

He'd shaved a few days ago, but golden stubble was already dotting his jaw and cheeks and chin, and she licked her lips absentmindedly as her flowing gaze drew patterns between his freckles, obscured a bit underneath. She dipped her head the tiniest bit closer, and she could feel his breath, hear it even over the sounds of nature around them, and her eyes were drawn further down to his chest as it rose and fell.

She'd spent a lot of time wondering why they had waited so long to be like this, to reach a place where if he opened his eyes, just now, her cheeks might flush a tender pink, but she wouldn't look away. But, the fact that they had survived strongly reverberated inside, pushing down the what ifs.

The craving to touch his face intensified as his hair blew more forcefully at the top of his head, sun setting low on the horizon, and melting amber light flamed through ginger, giving the impression that he might have caught fire. She smiled, imagining his blue eyes flashing with intensity, and she knew so many ways to see them that way, now. Anger and loyalty had been the biggest culprits, springing up in a row with her or a confrontation with someone else. But now she could see it when he simply looked at her, when she spoke emotional words of truth that she'd been hiding, and he said them back.

The sun had nearly set completely when she finally watched him stirring, the tiniest tilt of his head, rolling eyes behind his lids before they slowly cracked open. And she didn't move or blink for as long as she could manage, waiting as he focused on her, corners of his mouth turning upward, eyes going so soft and somehow euphoric, contrasting immediately with the blaze still brightly gleaming in his hair.

"Hey," he said, in an impossibly scratchy voice, and she swallowed back the shiver she felt begin in the pit of her stomach and rise.

"Hi."

Up above, sunset was brilliantly spreading deep pink and orange across soft strips of low cloud, and a part of her wanted to stay here forever, but another part longed for the safe confines of his room, ready for the night to arrive, the quiet way he would hold her, speaking in raspy, slurred phrases.

He reached up, and she was momentarily surprised to feel his hand on the side of her neck, thumb extending up over her jaw. But then she leaned into his touch, heavily resting on his palm. She wasn't going to wait any longer to do the things she wanted, not only knowing that he wanted them, too, but knowing that it was all that truly mattered. He was all…

And the silhouetted profiles of their faces closed a shutter over the last remaining sparks of daylight as she lowered her lips to his.


	12. Tiny apartment

_For the record, my canon is pretty much that they moved in together at the end of her 7th year at Hogwarts (either with Harry or just on their own), but I decided to go with a slightly different take for this fic. Hope you enjoy! x_

* * *

 _ **Prompt: tiny apartment**_

 _Prompted by: LilyMay77_

* * *

It had actually been sort of an awful week. Not only had the Aurors failed to make any real progress on their current case, but Hermione had been so busy with reports that she hadn't been able to visit when he'd had a few free hours in Inverness on Tuesday. Now, it was late Friday- no, Saturday morning, really… and he could at least feel relieved that he'd not had to stay in that dusty old cabin with four other blokes sleeping on bedrolls in the same room through the weekend as well.

He'd just started turning the key in the lock of his flat door when he heard… a cat meowing?

Pausing to listen, he was sure it was coming from _inside_ his flat, which made him a lot more curious than nervous. For a moment, he almost convinced himself he was delirious from lack of sleep and had been trying to unlock the wrong door. But the key turned the rest of the way quite easily, and he stuffed it into his pocket, removing his wand and opening the door cautiously.

"Crookshanks?"

A fluffy ball of orange fur stared up at him, and he lifted a brow, realising that Hermione must have been here recently, though it was strange for her to bring her cat along and then leave him behind, unless…

He took off his coat and turned to toss it in the vague direction of the sofa when his eyes landed on the coffee table, and he grinned. It was absolutely covered in books, stacked several deep and filling every inch of space aside from one small corner that housed an empty tea cup and saucer. As he looked closer, he noticed that an avalanche of books continued to the floor, torn scraps of parchment stuck randomly between the pages as place holders. His old orange patchwork blanket was lying in a heap on the far sofa cushion, twisted with a navy wool jumper that he recognised as his own, though he'd definitely not left them there last Sunday as he'd vacated his flat for his assignment. As he moved toward the short hall that led to his bedroom, he spotted Hermione's trainers sitting neatly behind the sofa, solidifying his suspicion.

He'd been conflicted, when he'd arrived at the Ministry an hour ago, about really preferring to go directly to her parents' house to see her, but he didn't want to wake anyone after midnight. Now that he was home, this was far better. He held his breath as he pushed open his half-closed bedroom door.

She was lying in the middle of his bed, on her side, sound asleep. Her hair was fanning out over his pillow, half-obscuring her face, and one of her feet was sticking out from the end of his twisted sheets and blankets. His heart lodged in his throat as he stared at her in the dark, and he wondered why he hadn't asked her to just move in with him before. Maybe because he hadn't known _this_ … whatever he could call the fact that she had been evidently living at his flat while he was gone.

He was so torn between wanting her to know he was there and not wanting to wake her, but he tried not to make a sound as he walked slowly further into his room, wondering if he ought to kip on the sofa at least until she did wake up. It wasn't as if they hadn't shared his bed on plenty of occasions when she had stayed over with him before, but she rarely slept all the way through the night, and she was currently sprawled in the dead centre of the bed, making it hard for him to imagine climbing in with her without disturbing her.

As he navigated toward his chest of drawers for a change of clothes, he spotted her jeans on the floor and smiled wider, continuing in his discoveries by locating her folded jumper on the arm of the chair by the window and yet another large book on his bedside table. He managed to almost silently extract boxers and a clean shirt from a drawer before leaving the room again and turning right to enter his small loo, closing the door behind him so the sound of the sink wouldn't bother her.

No longer very surprised at this point, he grinned at her toothbrush inside the cup he used as a holder, her hairbrush on the edge of the sink, and… bloody hell, another book. He'd just stripped off his clothes to pile on the floor, put on his clean pants and brushed his teeth when he heard her soft, tentative voice.

"Ron?"

He opened the door and grinned out at her, taking in her flushed face and embarrassed expression… noting that she was only wearing one of his flannel shirts… and possibly knickers underneath, though he could use his imagination-

"I didn't expect you back til Sunday."

"Nice to see you, too," he teased, abandoning the loo and the clean shirt he hadn't put on yet to move closer toward her, but he hesitated at the way she bit her lip apologetically.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

She grimaced and tucked a thick clump of messy, sleep-tousled hair behind her ear.

"I'd planned to clean up and go home tomorrow."

"I told you you could stay whenever you wanted," he reminded her. "S'why you've got a key."

"I know… but I didn't ask if I could be here all week, and I've sort of made a mess of your flat, and my things are everywhere, and I didn't want you to see it like this," she rambled, looking even more flustered.

"Oh yeah, because I'm an incredibly tidy person, myself…" he said sarcastically.

"That's not the point," she sighed.

He suspected she had narrowly avoided rolling her eyes, even though she was still giving off the impression of mild shame that he'd found her here. His lips twitched, but he knew he still had some work to do to reassure her of how absolutely fine it was that she was here.

"I should have asked you," she concluded.

"You never need to ask. But would you have told me you stayed, if I hadn't come back til Sunday?"

Guilt filled her features again, and she didn't really have to answer.

"Hang on," he said, slowly. "Have you done this before?"

She closed her eyes tightly, for a second, and when she opened them again, she almost whimpered her next words.

"I'm sorry."

His stomach was fluttering wonderfully as he shook his head.

"Stop that. Hermione, you can move in if you want. I don't care."

"You…" she started, wide eyes staring up at him, arms crossed over her chest. "What?"

"I'm really glad you're here. I was worried about waking everybody up if I showed up at your parents' house. And, to be honest, I loved finding all your shit here… even Crookshanks."

She chewed her bottom lip for a second in contemplation.

"You don't want me to live here. You'd never have time alone-"

"Don't want time alone."

"But…" Her eyes darted between his, as if looking for some sign of hesitation. Good luck, he thought. She wouldn't find any. "I don't think you realise how much stuff I have, and your flat is tiny."

"I've been in your room plenty…"

She licked her bottom lip, and he tried mostly unsuccessfully to hold back a grin.

"Have you looked under the bed?" she asked, shyly.

"Why? Is it all just books under there? Just put 'em under _my_ bed then. I think mine's bigger than yours, anyway."

She exhaled sharply through her nose, still staring sceptically up at him.

"Point is, you could move in tomorrow, and no I don't need time to think about it, and no I don't give a damn how much stuff you put in every room because, if you did move in, it would be your flat, too."

She blinked rapidly for a second, and he realised her eyes were watering.

"You've always wanted your own space, Ron. You said so when you left the Burrow…"

"I didn't mean away from you. Just didn't fancy living in my old room after… y'know, the war and being on our own."

"But now you have your own flat and furniture and- and everything. That has to matter to you."

It was starting to make sense, now. He blinked at her, realising he'd somehow miscommunicated something rather important.

"You've really thought, for almost a year, that I needed to be here alone?"

"I don't know," she said, tightening her arms across her chest. "You never said. And I know how important it always was to you growing up to have something that really belonged only to you."

"Yeah, alright. I see why you thought- I should have explained better. There's no real difference between something that's mine and something that's ours, yeah? I haven't thought of it like that since… yeah, prob'ly since the tent, honestly."

"Since the tent?" Her eyes widened, and she started breathing between slightly parted lips. He shrugged, smiling.

"Reckon it was you keeping a lot of our stuff together in your bag, and… I dunno, I liked it. Made me feel like we were sort of living together. I mean we were, technically, but not like that."

She swallowed and took a small step closer.

"I felt like that, too. That's exactly why I did it," she admitted.

The left corner of his mouth lifted up into a lopsided grin.

"I'm really glad you're back early. Missed you so much," she sniffed.

"C'mere."

She took a step toward him, and he cupped her face in his hands, ducking to kiss her. She rested her palms on his bare chest, stood up on her toes to reach him better, and he skimmed his hands slowly down the front of her body, between them, shivering as she let a low groan vibrate into his mouth. He held her hips for a moment, and then his hands found their way inside the back of the flannel she was wearing, fingers spreading over her bare skin and bringing her closer as she looped her arms around his neck.

She finally pulled away a bit, gasping in a breath, but her glistening eyes were gazing back into his, and he tightened his arms around her waist, picking her up as she squealed with surprise.

"Missed you, too," he said in a low rumble, against her ear, before burying his face in her hair for a second and lowering her back to the floor, smiling.

He released her only to take her hand and lead her back to the bedroom, happily noticing her bracelet and elastic hair band looped over the bed post as he climbed in and tugged her close, quickly replacing all the rest of the pronouns in his head from his to theirs.


	13. Homework

_**Prompt: homework**_

 _Prompted by: giulialuna90_

* * *

They were sequestered at their usual table at the library, the one that sat halfway submerged in a cluster of shelves, so that the smell of old, dusty texts permeated the air. He knew it was her favourite spot, because not only did they basically have the whole back right corner of the library to themselves, but she could get lost in the books and not have to speak to another soul for hours at a time if she didn't want to. Today, however, she evidently wanted to… at least to him, because Harry had left over an hour ago, and she was currently in the midst of an overly detailed explanation of how to properly store potions that required temperature adjustments during long brewing cycles.

He had gotten scary good at being both completely invested in staring at her and simultaneously hearing and at least partially comprehending every word she said. He reckoned he should probably get started on his essay, while she was in the middle of rattling off far more than enough material to cobble together for a passing grade, but, if he was being honest, he just really didn't want to look down at his parchment and miss the way her frustrated fingers tucked frizzy curls behind her ears, the way her tongue darted out to the corner of her mouth when she paused between monologues-

"Ron, are you even listening?"

"'Course."

"Then what was I just saying?" She narrowed her eyes at him, and he was far too cocky about being able to supply the answer he knew she sincerely doubted he could give.

"You'd just finished explaining how bulbadox juice has got to be stored in a cool place to keep from spoiling."

She blinked at him, and he felt a bubble of delighted satisfaction rise up, trying not to smirk.

"Alright, fine," she said. "That was lucky."

"Not lucky. I was paying _attention_."

"Well." She cleared her throat. "Good," and she resumed with a list of ingredients that _could_ withstand heat for an extended period without breaking down.

What he couldn't do, however, was both comprehend her discourse and simultaneously remind himself that he'd had to snog Lavender and get himself poisoned to grow up. At least that second part had ended in Hermione speaking to him again, though his mind immediately drifted to the nasty words he'd said to her and how he was nearly certain he'd made her cry on more than one occasion since mid-autumn.

He forced himself to focus back on the present, the smooth curve of her neck, soft pink of her lips… listening intently again. His eyes drifted to the way she brushed her hair back over her shoulder, lingering on her partially exposed collarbone where her jumper had slid to the side-

"There's no way you heard the last thing I said, but you've got to include it in your essay or it'll be incomplete."

His eyes snapped to hers.

"Why d'you keep thinking I'm not listening?"

She licked her bottom lip, and he forced himself not to glance down.

"Because you're…" she sighed, " _thinking_."

"How can you tell?"

"You were staring."

He couldn't stop his eyes from widening, and his temperature jumped up a noticeable number of degrees.

"Huh?" All he could do was play dumb, he reckoned. Hopefully she'd buy it, because he was so not ready to face-

"You were looking at something over my shoulder, seemed like."

Relief flooded him, but he was surprised to realise it was mingled with unmistakeable disappointment. Maybe a part of him actually _did_ want her to catch him… bloody hell.

"Oh," he said, realising she was still waiting for him to answer her. "Well, I swear I heard you. Go on."

She glanced suspiciously over her own shoulder, anyway. But, finding nothing there aside from the edge of the nearest shelf, she cleared her throat, eyed him cryptically, and returned to her lecture.

He tried, for a few moments, to focus only on her words, but he slowly gave it up. What could he do about the fact that he found it utterly adorable the way she wrinkled her nose when she was trying hard to recall something, or the fact that he often intentionally sat closer to her than necessary on the common room sofa under the pretense of reading something off the book that was resting across her lap? It had gone just about as far as it could, by now, and the next step, though really only a marginal shift of his hand into hers, was possibly going to strangle him before he got around to it…

"Am I forcing you to study?" she questioned softly, quite abruptly interrupting her own commentary on why the transparency of various potion vials was often overlooked, yet very important…

She'd never, in his clear memories, at least, asked something like this, so it threw him off. Of course she was forcing him to study - she nearly always was, if he was doing it in the first place - but (maybe somewhat surprisingly) he couldn't think of a single place he'd rather be at the moment, as long as she was still sitting next to him.

"I won't be offended if you want to stop," she added, looking like she might actually feel quite guilty for keeping him here.

"No, it's uh… nice to have the help. Let's keep going. This thing's due in a week, yeah? So, we'd better hurry…" He grinned at her, delighted when she twitched her lips into a small smile back.

"Just because _you_ like to do everything last minute…" she muttered, but she was still smiling as she flipped a few pages forward in the book closest to her.

He waited for her review of the past two months of Potions material to resume, but she didn't speak for a good long while, and he was beginning to finally feel too self-conscious not to busy himself with some other activity when she finally looked back up at him.

"Would you like to go back to the common room and play chess?"

"Nah, I'll stay here with you and finish-"

"I _meant_ with me," she clarified, and he was quite sure her cheeks had flushed a few shades deeper pink. "I'll go back with you."

Surprised, he considered how long it had been since they'd last done something just for fun, together. He wished he could recall the exact day, what they'd been doing, but it was too far back…

"I know I'm not very good at chess," she continued, clearly shy all of a sudden and backtracking, "but maybe you could explain what I'm doing wrong and how to be better-

"Yeah," he interrupted, sensing her hesitation growing, "sounds brilliant."

She studied him for a second before smiling.

"But we can work on the essay again later, if you want," he concluded, pausing before completely abandoning his blank parchment to make sure she knew he was sincere.

She smiled a bit wider and nodded.

"Tomorrow?" She swallowed and didn't give him time to answer, embarrassment further colouring her cheeks. "I mean… if you aren't doing something else-"

"I'm not. Tomorrow's great."

And the next day was hers, too, he thought. And also the next day… How had he gone for months without her? Well, he'd just have to make up for that, starting right now.


	14. Talk Too Much by COIN

_A/N: So, this one sort of came out of nowhere. I had never imagined this taking place at this point in DH before today, but thanks, song prompt! It borderline doesn't fit into canon, but I read the RoR / Room of Hidden Things scene over again in the book, and you could possibly stretch the timeline while Harry's separated from them + getting accosted by Malfoy to include time for this to go down. It was also the last place for them to have a very brief acknowledgement of their status before Fred dies :(_

 _Hope you enjoy! x_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:**_ _ **"Talk Too Much" by COIN**_

 _Prompted by:_ _hello-blue-roses_

* * *

They were rummaging through piles of junk, rusted old bottles and sconces, torn books, furniture missing a leg… The Room of Hidden Things seemed to stretch on endlessly before them, and they had separated from Harry to cover more ground. At least they had a plan and Harry had seen the diadem before, Ron reminded himself, as Hermione reached up to push a small stack of filthy, wooden boxes to the side to see what was behind them.

"Ron… I'm sorry," she sniffed, not looking at him, "f-for, you know, kissing you like that."

These weren't the words he wanted to hear after the best few moments of his life, but he hadn't entirely ruled out this possibility, so he managed to answer her, trying to stay at least partially distracted by their search.

"S'alright-"

"It was a bad time to- but I just don't care about that anymore."

She shifted stacks of torn parchment atop a small mound of what basically amounted to trash, sighing.

"Yeah, I-"

"But those fangs could have _killed_ us," she interrupted again, "and I don't know what's wrong with me… why I've got to find the worst possible moment for everything. We were living in a tent for months, then all those weeks with your brother and Fleur…"

He couldn't really bring himself to admit that he hadn't even _thought_ about the fangs, completely oblivious to the potential for one of them to stab through a leg in her haste to throw herself against him. He waited in silence for another moment, correctly suspecting that she hadn't finished talking yet.

"I just wasn't thinking," she sighed again. "Sorry."

He busied himself with a shuffle through a small collection of scorched cauldrons until he sensed that she was actually done this time, and he scratched the words out through his raw throat, more worried about leaving her to feel like she owed him anything than he was focused on the way his heart was sinking to the pit of his stomach, wondering why she thought she needed to be sorry in the first place… that maybe she'd made a mistake.

"I get it. We might die. You just… did something spontaneous."

"What?" she half-whispered, moving toward him before he could comprehend what she was doing.

Her eyes flashed over to his, and a strange sort of deep gaze penetrated him, like she could read his mind. Perhaps he wasn't hiding it well at all, too distracted with their task, aisles and aisles of endless rubbish, with the sounds of distant fighting echoing through the stone walls. But he tried to hold on to the way her lips had felt, her arms around his neck, rather than showing her how scared he was that she'd done something she didn't really mean, in the middle of a war…

She pushed him back against a crumbling column, and, for a second, he tensed, thinking it might collapse under their sudden weight. Her hand was on his chest, which he tried not to focus on as she almost glared up at him.

"You think _that's_ why I did it?"

He licked his bottom lip, at a loss for what to say. He didn't know what the correct words were, and he was too full of adrenaline and dust to think straight.

"Well, it's not," she answered for him.

"But you just said… Look, I'd understand, if it was."

He thought back over her apology, not quite ready to commit to believing he might have missed something. The important thing was that they had to focus on the bloody Horcruxes, and she really _had_ picked a terrible time to snog him and then say she was sorry for it…

"We can talk later, when all this is over, if- if we survive," he said. "But it doesn't matter right now."

"Doesn't _matter_?"

"I just mean… bloody hell. Honestly, if we _are_ gonna die, I'd rather just think you wanted to do it 'cause you-" He broke off and cleared his throat. "Y'know, that you'd have done it whether or not we were in this shit right now. I should just tell you, anyway, that I'm fucking glad you did it. I mean, you know me. I'm not sure I've done that great a job hiding it lately, but I've fanc-"

Her fist tightened in his shirt and she tugged him toward her, kissing him again. It took him several seconds to comprehend what was happening before he gripped the back of her neck with his right hand and kissed her back. She pressed her body all along the front of his, standing up on her toes to reach him. And then, too soon, it was over. He opened his eyes and blinked down at her flushed face.

"I didn't want to say the wrong thing again and confuse you," she whispered, trying to excuse herself. "And, we've got a Horcrux to find."

He was finding it hard to remember how to breathe, but she'd immediately pointed out, without needing to explain in words, that all his doubts about how she felt were entirely self-driven. Her apology now looked like something different. They could have spent months together, if they'd just done this before, when they'd had an endless stretch of quiet nights together in a tent, weeks of safety at Bill and Fleur's. Now, they'd managed two effing kisses, and he might not live to see the sunrise.

"That's twice you've done that now. Isn't it my turn?"

"I can't believe you thought it was just spontaneous."

"We were in the middle of a conversation. Both times, actually."

"But does it still count as spontaneous if I've been wanting to do it for about three years now?"

He felt his lips twitching, the dread that had lodged in his stomach earlier had completely dissipated, and he was pretty sure his arms were coated in goosebumps. They really ought to be searching for the damn diadem…

"Diadem, snake, Voldemort, Prefect's Bath," she said quietly, clearly agreeing with his unspoken words, reluctantly letting go of him and backing up a small step.

His grin spread slowly across his face as she shyly chewed her lip and abruptly turned around, rummaging through old jewelry boxes as they could finally hear Harry moving on the other side of the aisle again. Ron walked up behind her to reach a tray of silver goblets over her head. Evidently surprised by his proximity, she turned around under his arm, gazing up at him. He kept his eyes on the silver he was looking through as he felt her watching him.

"Not up there," he said.

He reckoned they should both really stop talking so much and start just doing what they actually wanted to do. So far, that had worked out far superior to all the overthinking and jealousy they'd gone through for years. And he was free, knowing she returned the feelings that, for him, had grown to surpass love, even.

"We _have_ to win," she said.

"We will," he answered, and she ducked under his arm to break free, opening cabinet doors across the aisle and peering inside.

"Not here either."

They might not have time to put words to everything it meant, but he wasn't even sure if they really needed them, anymore. He took hold of her hand and ran his thumb across her knuckles, encouraged by the way she smiled, determinedly tugged him further down the aisle to keep on looking.


	15. I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz

_**A/N:** Sorry for the delay on getting the next one of these over here on FFN! I have actually stopped doing them as consistently on Tumblr, so I need to get back to that... My latest chapter fic is consuming me. I've also been sick, so there may be a slight delay on the next update. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this Shell Cottage moment! x_

* * *

 _ **Prompt: "I Won't Give Up" by Jason Mraz**_

 _Prompted by: marauderswho_

* * *

He walked slowly toward the beach, contemplating how long it had been since he'd seen so many stars so clearly in the night sky. This was actually quite ironic, because he'd spent months living in a tent, sitting night watches outside, so far away from the nearest town. But he hadn't taken notice then, existing inside his own head or focused too intently on the tree line in case they had been discovered.

Now, he approached Hermione's small form, where she was sitting in the sand, her body lit only by moon and starlight. She was wearing a black cotton t-shirt that was several sizes too large for her small frame, which he knew to be because of her injuries, still healing after Malfoy Manor, even though she hadn't said it. It had been almost three days, but his hands would still shake when he was alone in the shower, or when he'd wake up from a cold nightmare with silent dread filling his body.

She turned and glanced suddenly over her shoulder, and he wasn't sure what had alerted her to his presence. The waves ahead were shifting in and out against the shore, a mesmerising sound in the dark, and he hadn't been able to hear his own footsteps, bare feet through sand.

"Hey," he said, now that she'd noticed him, and she watched him as he sat in the sand beside her.

Her legs were nearly bare in a small pair of cotton shorts, and it was quite chilly out, sea breeze blowing her hair into little frizzy tornados over her shoulders, but she didn't seem to mind. His jumper and jeans suddenly felt stifling in comparison.

"You didn't eat much at dinner," he pointed out, almost hating his own voice as he heard the words aloud. Even _he_ had gone through a stretch of lost appetite, when he'd arrived here after leaving them… and he hadn't been bloody _tortured_.

She studied his face, and he decided to try and look apologetic, relieved when she smiled softly.

"Wasn't very hungry," she said.

He nodded and turned his attention to the sea straight ahead. He wanted to do everything to help her, but he was more often lost than not. He knew there was no switch to flick to make it better, as much as he knew another part of him was desperately, endlessly, searching for it. But, all of a sudden, he felt her hand on his leg, moving over his forearm, fingers inching toward his hand. He met her halfway, fingers lacing together to rest on his knee. And when he risked looking over at her again, she was staring back, glassy eyes holding his gaze.

"How do you feel?" he asked in a scratchy, surprisingly emotional voice. She swallowed, and the reflection of starlight in her eyes intensified as they watered.

He was once again immediately sorry he had spoken, and he squeezed her hand, feeling overwhelmed. But she gripped his hand back before letting go and clearing her throat.

"Better," she said in a shaky voice, "but… I'm going to have a scar."

He glanced at her neck, the tiny remaining line across her skin from where Bellatrix's blade had cut her, but she shook her head.

"Not there." She hesitated only for a second as he watched her curiously, and then she reached up to the loose collar of the shirt she was wearing, looped a finger over the edge, and tugged it down the centre of her chest, exposing her breastbone all the way down to the bottom of her ribs.

It really wasn't the right time to notice how much skin she had revealed to him, how beautiful the gentle curves of her body were, how she had a small mole just at the left edge of where her shirt was overlapping the swell of her breast… It wasn't the right time at all to want to touch her himself, to run his fingertips down the open V of bare skin she was showing him.

Or was it?

Her eyes had welled with tears to the point that if she blinked too hard, he suspected they would fall. Did she think this made her somehow less? The scar was there, but he was having trouble actually focusing on it, seeing more of her than he had ever seen before, alone. And when he did try to see her scar more clearly, he was filled only with rage, something he didn't want right now. The only thing he could do to tame it was to flip it around so it made him want to wrap his arms around her and hold onto her and stay here forever.

"I shouldn't c-care," she sniffed. "It really doesn't matter. I'm _alive_. But-"

She licked her bottom lip and let go of her shirt, but it didn't retreat to her neck, gaping open slightly from being stretched.

"It's just all I can see, when I look in the mirror," she nearly whispered, eyes darting away from him to stare out at the waves again.

"It's not all _I_ saw," he said, throat quite dry.

She turned back to him, surprised, and he noticed the fresh tear track running down her left cheek.

"You're just saying that." But her eyes were darting between his, and she so clearly wanted to believe him.

"No, I'm not," he said roughly, clenching his fist slightly in the sand… not entirely sure what he was admitting to, but hoping she understood enough to realise how achingly sincere he was.

His gaze danced down to the shadowy gap between her shirt and her chest, flicking back up to her face so fast when he realised what he was doing. His ears burned, but she didn't seem at all bothered. In fact, she shifted a bit closer to him, until her leg was resting against his.

"I'm trying to be strong, for Harry," she explained, in a tiny, cracking voice, "but I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd be fine-" he started to say, because she was strong, and brilliant, and amazing, and… beautiful, even with a scar she hated. He loved every part of her, half-desperate to let her know. But she stopped him with a hand wrapped tightly around his wrist.

"You have no idea how much safer I felt, the night you came back. I couldn't tell you then because it hurt too much when you left, but I _need_ you. Harry needs you, too."

He wanted to apologise again, but she flinched and let go of him, reaching up to touch her scar very gently with her fingertips.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked, worried.

"Once in a while, but not much," she answered, chest moving heavily as she breathed in and out. She flattened her palm to her chest, half over bare skin, half over her wrinkled shirt.

He realised he was going to do it after he'd already started moving. He covered her hand with his much larger one, watching as her lips parted and her eyes fluttered shut.

"I need you, too," he began, her eyes still lightly shut as she listened. "If you…" But he couldn't bring himself to say any of the words that came to mind for the impossible possibility that she could ever die. "…left, I don't think I could do this shit anymore."

She finally opened her eyes, and he slid his hand slowly off of hers so his fingertips brushed her knuckles before he lost contact.

"I don't want to think about what's coming," she said, so quietly, "or what we have to do next. I just want to stay here with you."

And he finally noticed that his assumption earlier - that sitting outside in the cold wasn't really bothering her - had been false. Her bare legs were coated in gooseflesh, and she was lightly shivering now. She moved the slightest bit closer again, and he had to show her it was alright.

"Then, let's stay here," he whispered.

He lifted his hand back up to her shoulder, moving slowly up along her collarbone toward the side of her neck, just barely stopping short. But it was enough, and she slid her legs over his, leaning forward so his hand slipped behind her neck and her head came to rest on his shoulder. His fingers got lost in her hair before he remembered to breathe, and he wrapped his arm fully around her back, holding her tight, partially on his lap, wondering why he didn't do this more often… every day, even.

She bent her knees slightly, drawing her body even closer in toward his warmth, and he bravely lowered his free hand to her leg, heating her skin with his touch before draping his whole forearm across her thighs and dropping his cheek to her forehead. He knew they both knew they had no choice, that they would face what would come, heading straight into the fire. But, right now, they could do exactly what she'd told him she wanted. They could stay here, together, and he'd move only when they had to, not one second before.


	16. Hermione's 19th Birthday

_**A/N:** Whew, I'm finally getting around to posting some of these old prompts. Hang tight - I'm going to be starting these up again on Tumblr next month. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt: Hermione's 19th birthday**_

 _Prompted by: ObsessedRHShipper_

* * *

"…fucking bollocks…"

Hermione dropped the quill she was holding, eyes darting to the tall, diamond-paned window to her right. Moonlight reflected off the glass, and she noticed, for the first time that evening, that a chilly draft was wafting through the crack, where someone had evidently left the latch undone. But she was entirely alone in the library at this hour…

She really _had_ heard him. Or had she finally gone mad? She reached for her wand, barely breathing.

"Bloody hell-"

"Ron?!" she hissed, standing abruptly from her table and moving closer to the window, in her socks.

There was a long, silent pause. And then, a bright blue eye appeared in the crack between the window and its frame.

"Hey."

She jumped back as she gasped, clutching her wand in a white-knuckled fist.

"What are you doing?!" she whispered fiercely, moving forward again as she comprehended his actual presence, jaw dropping.

"Happy… -shit!" He struggled with something, and then his palm slapped suddenly to the window, swinging it inward. "Right," he said, revealing his full body, standing in the brambly bushes outside the sill. "Happy birthday."

He grinned at her, jeans caught in several places on large thorns, hair swept far to the side across his forehead, arm raised above his head to keep the window open, which pulled his green jumper up his body on that same side, revealing a strip of pale skin and the black elastic of his pants above his belt.

She stared at the sight before her for a moment, speechless. And then, she burst out laughing, pocketing her wand, eyes watering as she darted forward, throwing her arms around his neck and nearly tumbling out through the window altogether. He steadied her by tightly wrapping his left arm around her waist and leaning forward to keep them from overbalancing into the shrubbery.

"I can't believe you're here," she mumbled happily against his neck.

He took in a deep breath, nose buried in her hair. And he must have gotten distracted, because the window began to swing slowly shut. Hand seizing at her back, he lifted his head and pushed forward again.

"Sorry!" she whispered urgently, removing her arms from around his neck and balancing fully back on her own feet again.

"No one else's in here, yeah?" he asked, glancing past her into the dark library.

"No, l'm alone. Ginny got me permission from Madame Pince to be here all night, on my own, as a birthday present, and I-" But she broke off, eyes widening. "She _knew_!"

Ron shrugged, his smile slowly spreading.

"You planned this out so I'd be the only one here when you arrived, didn't you!"

"Maybe…"

With a terrible ripping noise, he yanked his right leg free from thorns, hoisted himself through the open window, and tugged his left leg to follow, wincing. He reached around and shut the window, latching it and smirking down at her.

"Only _you_ would consider an all night pass to the library the best birthday present ever."

"No," she said, smiling shyly back at him, " _this_ is the best birthday present ever." She glanced down his body and slowly returned her eyes to his, fighting a strong urge to flush crimson. His expression had turned quite dreamy, candlelight flickering in his pupils.

"I know it's only been three weeks, but I've, uh, missed you a good bit more than I've admitted," he said, quietly.

She nodded, sniffing.

"Me too."

They stared at each other for a moment, in silence, before he cleared his throat.

"What do you want to do now?" He toed off his trainers and picked them up, walking past her to stow them under her table.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… we've reached the end of the part that I'd planned out…"

She pressed her lips together, amused.

"So, we can do whatever you want," he continued, as he stood to his full height again. "I can revise an essay, or copy down notes, or read a section of the library aloud…"

Eyes widening, she coughed lightly, caught between laughing at his list and thinking it was far more brilliant sounding than she probably should admit.

"No one's coming back tonight. Madame Pince left and locked me in ages ago…" she explained, licking her lips.

"Right," he said, before clearing his scratchy throat.

She'd been mentally plotting an excuse about his torn jeans and the possibility of minor injuries from his run-in with the foliage outside, but the longer she stood a metre away from him, heart pounding, the less it mattered whether or not she was completely obvious about it. He'd shown up, at midnight, without a plan. He'd definitely been expecting her to take advantage of him… one way or another.

"So…" he urged, staring almost shyly down at her.

"Oh, forget this," she sighed, moving forward.

She tilted her head back as she approached him, and he gazed down at her, so close to touching… but not quite. He lifted one eyebrow, the corner of his mouth… and then, his hands reached up and cupped her face, and he ducked to kiss her. She sighed out relief, flowing between his parted lips as his hands moved down, past her shoulders, fingers spreading wide as he slid them down her back, left hand pressing to the arch above her arse, forcing her stomach flat against his as his left hand suddenly moved back up to tangle in her hair.

She reached up under the back of his jumper and shirt, shivering at the wonderful feeling of his warm, bare skin against her hands. His tongue ran between her lips, and she felt his hands trembling against her. She puffed out a tiny squeak, attempting to remain on her toes to reach him. But her right leg lifted off the ground as his teeth lightly nibbled her bottom lip, and she needed to be much, _much_ closer to him. Wrapping her heel around his calf, she forced their hips together, eliciting a shuddering groan from him in response…

He pulled his lips impossibly slowly away from hers, panting lightly and clenching his eyes shut as she grabbed a hold of one of his back belt loops, fingers splaying so half her hand was resting over the top of his arse, holding him quite still… and quite close. She breathed in a sort of ragged series of gasps as he copied her motion, sliding the hand at her back down, down, over the rounded swell of her own arse. Two breaths later, he slid his hand back up, under her shirt, stopping at her bra, and she brushed her nose against his as she dropped her foot from his calf and moved back enough to focus on his eyes as he opened them.

He slid his left hand out of her hair, down along her collarbone, until the tip of his index finger was trailing the collar of her shirt, feathering to her top button. She tilted her head back and exhaled slowly, eyes locked on his as he moved his right hand to join his left, working the first button free… then the second, the third…

And then, he stopped, taking a step back… and he dropped to his knees in front of her.

"Ron, _what…_ " she laughed, in a fluttery, nervous sort of way. Three weeks apart really was feeling like an eternity, and a part of her was drowning in that same excited anxiousness that had traveled with her for at least the first half of the summer.

Looking down at him, she held her breath for a moment, his head level with her breasts, which were currently heaving against her bra. He quickly unbuttoned her last three buttons, opening her shirt, eyes raking over her body, raising her temperature…

Pressing his lips lightly to the skin just below her bra, he looked up and met her eyes, shadows streaking across his face, in contrast to the lantern light that splashed in his eyes and fringe. She was caught staring back at him, unable to look away. It was mental, really, knowing that he loved her, like everything suddenly looked so much different. Or did it? Was it only her perspective that had changed? He had looked at her so many different ways, over the years before, conveying a wealth of hidden emotions she was either too afraid to risk believing or had simply not viewed correctly.

He kissed her stomach, open-mouthed, as his hands spread wider over her sides. His nose caught on the bottom edge of her bra, and he pulled back.

"We're doing this in the _Hogwarts library_ ," he grinned, and she recalled him mentioning a particular fantasy about this, to which she had concurred… only she'd never expected to actually do it. Her heart was pounding, fear of being caught somewhere pulsing in the back of her mind. But he was right _there_. Was she honestly supposed to tell him to stop?

"Come on," she suggested, tugging him gently by the hair and smiling. "We can go deeper into the shelves at least so we'll have time to stop if someone _does_ come back…" She cleared her throat, and he stood.

"What?"

"I keep thinking I'm someone who doesn't break rules, don't I, but how often has that actually been true? Just because I'm clever about _how_ to do it doesn't mean we aren't still breaking them…"

He stared at her in contemplation for a moment before grinning.

"That's a good point…"

She took his hand, tugging him further back into the stacks, away from the windows, well out of view of the front doors. When she stopped and turned to face him, he was staring at her with a strange sort of expression she couldn't place.

"What?" she asked him, quietly.

"Hm? Nothing," he smiled back, running a hand through his hair to move it off his forehead. The result was an amusing puff of ginger at the top of his head before his fringe slowly fell down again. She gave up questioning the way he was obviously hiding something from her, opting instead to focus on the way her stomach flipped with happiness, familiarity. Sometimes he was just so perfectly who she wanted that she was overwhelmed, all over again. And why was it always the most ridiculous things, like his hair, or the lopsided curve of his mouth just now as he grinned at her?

She took his hand again and walked two steps further backward before tugging him down to sit on the floor, hidden by high rows of books, dark shadows washing over them, far away from the nearest lit lantern. Wrapping her hands around his forearms, she pulled him in closer until his mouth was on hers again, one of his hands finding her bare side under the shirt she was still half-wearing. His tongue ran between her lips, and her body tensed with pleasure before she couldn't help herself and was climbing into his lap, widening her legs to push her half-bare chest against his, recalling that he was still fully dressed. Pushing up on her knees, she dragged her mouth away from his, panting slightly as her hands slid up his neck to hold his face.

Sighing shakily, she scrambled at the back of his jumper, half clawing it up his body. He reached back to help, tugging the collar at the base of his neck. And they managed to pull it over his head, messy ginger hair emerging with a static fizz as she dropped the jumper to the floor and returned immediately to his mouth. His body was so warm through his thin, cotton shirt, and a part of her was hardly comprehending how far she was really letting this go, in the middle of the bloody library, but the rest of her was too consumed by what they were doing to care.

Feeling his erection through his jeans, she rubbed herself against him, arching slightly into his chest as he groaned, vibrations moving up from the back of his throat. His hands shot down to hold her hips, but she did it again, causing him to rip his mouth away from hers, wrap an arm around her waist tightly, and lean backward. For a moment, she was thrown off guard by his movement, his elbow supporting his weight as he dropped to his back. But then, he rolled sideways and flipped them over so she was lying on her back on the thick rug in the centre of the aisle, his body covering hers as he leaned over her and sucked on her neck. She gasped and tilted her head further back to give him better access, parting her thighs and bending her knees so his body fit perfectly between her legs. She angled her hips against him and arched closer, but instead of his usual move of reciprocating and pressing down into her, he slid his mouth down her neck, down between her breasts, and sat up between her knees.

She wanted to call him back down on top of her… until his long fingers pinched her nipples through her thin, cotton bra. She closed her eyes, tiny squeaky sounds emanating from her parted lips, but she was too distracted by sensation to feel embarrassed. She'd nearly moved past this anyway, realising a while back that he loved the sounds she made, which, at the time he'd admitted it, really only made her blush a deeper shade of burgundy…

As his hands moved down, she cracked open her eyes, but then his fingertips were sliding up her bare torso to the bottom edge of her bra, and it was incredibly fortunate both that she was wearing the sort of bra that clasped in the front and that he had become familiar with it over the summer, because he made quick work of it and peeled the cups off to either side to expose her chest. She ran her hands up his denim-covered thighs, and he sucked in a breath through his nose, reaching down to loosely hold her wrists in both hands as he stared. And then, leaning forward, her chilled skin was warmed by his hot breath… preceding his lips, which attached to the bottom swell of her right breast, open-mouthed and working his way up as she clenched a fist in his hair. His tongue flicked out as he reached her nipple, and she trembled as he stretched out between her legs again, supporting himself on his forearms.

"Ron," she whispered, too constricted by her skirt and knickers and hoping he could somehow understand what she wanted, all from the way she'd said his name.

He figured out enough to start with, anyway, reaching up under her skirt and hooking a finger over the elastic of her knickers, pulling them down as he climbed out from between her legs to rid her of them completely. Now, he was _absolutely_ overdressed. But, rather than rectify it for her, he repositioned himself between her legs, glided his hands up her bare thighs and back down… She opened her mouth to ask him to come closer, but he spoke before she could free the words.

"Hermione…"

Sensing his hesitation, she froze and held his gaze.

"What's wrong?"

"I love you."

Her heart seized, fluttering at his voice around the words she hadn't heard in nearly three weeks.

"That's what's _wrong_?" she whispered.

"Hell, no. Nothing's wrong. Just… wanted you to know, in case you forgot."

"I love you, too," she smiled.

"Brilliant," and he grinned, ducking and kissing his way down her stomach, lifting her skirt again as his head dropped between her legs.

Her instinctive reaction was to gasp and flinch at his sudden contact with her extremely sensitive skin. But she knew he must be used to this by now, because his response was to tug her legs over his shoulders and spread his hands across her hips and use more tongue…

She lifted her gaze to the ceiling high above, heavily book-laden shelves rising on either side of them, but she had to clench her eyes shut as his hands moved up her body again to cover her breasts. She felt his teeth graze across her, and she really couldn't take it any more.

Reaching down, she gripped his biceps and pulled. He lifted his head to acknowledge her briefly before attaching his mouth to her inner thigh. Moaning her frustration, she raked her nails across his skin, and he lightly bit her before dragging his open mouth up the crease between her thigh and hip.

"Ron," she whispered, his head bobbing on her stomach as she shifted under him.

He was ignoring her insistent suggestions, and she was more than a little ready for him to be naked and covering her whole body…

"What are you _doing_?" she sighed, half-frustrated and half-confused. He lifted his head again.

"What'd'you mean?" His hand froze on her chest, and he blinked up at her.

"You're way down there."

"I was trying to, y'know… just do stuff for _you_."

She finally noticed how red his cheeks and ears were and how rapid his breathing had become. This was a completely absurd turn of events. He was restraining himself because he thought this was what she wanted?

"What?" was the only word she could manage, as she pushed up onto her elbows to see him properly.

"It's your birthday," he said in a deep, raspy voice.

"I'm aware."

He shrugged, evidently deeming that statement enough to explain himself.

"But I _want_ you to come up here," she said.

He licked his lips, and his forehead creased.

"Just thought it might be nice if I, dunno, _only_ did stuff for you."

She was too filled with lust to accurately think this through, but a part of her was momentarily horrified before she settled in the knowledge that he couldn't _possibly-_

"There's no way you think I only have sex with you for your benefit."

"No," he laughed. "I know you like it-"

" _Like_ it?!"

The countless times she had instigated shagging him throughout the summer flashed through her memory.

"Yeah, alright," he smirked.

But she was piecing things together a bit, some distant part of her also finding it comical to be having this sort of conversation with him still lying between her legs, her shirt completely open.

"Because it's my birthday, you think you're being selfish?"

He hesitated for a second before shrugging again.

"That's-" but she cut herself off, realising the truth. "No, I'm _not_ surprised, actually. That's _so_ like you…"

His flushed ears may have darkened a shade, but it was impossible to tell for sure in the dim light. She suddenly knew what she wanted to express, but she had no idea how.

"I can't explain it properly, but… everything's better when you like it, too…"

He must have comprehended the gist, because his gaze softened considerably.

"To be fair, this is bloody amazing already, and I was _liking_ it just fine…" His lips twitched toward an amused grin. "Reckon this is why blokes buy girls jewelry…"

She laughed, shaking her head.

"…which I may have also done," he added, just a bit shyly, and her eyebrows shot up.

"You _didn't_."

"I know it's not that creative," he said, as he pushed her leg off his shoulder and crawled up to lie on his side next to her, "but I've never really bought you a proper gift-"

"Perfume," she said quickly, and he half rolled his eyes.

"Dunno if that counts."

"Of course it counts."

He closed his eyes and shook his head, smiling as she turned onto her side to face him.

"You really bought me jewelry?" she asked, in a small voice. She was never one to care about romantic gifts, but something about him buying her a very specifically non-practical thing made her lightheaded.

"Yeah," and he opened his eyes, staring across at her. "But I hid the box in my trainer when I took them off at your table. Didn't want to forget about it in my pocket and crush it."

"Oh my God, I'm so curious."

She'd probably have abandoned their previous activities completely for long enough to find out what he'd bought her if he'd still had it within easy reaching distance…

"I'd lower your expectations if I were you," he said. "It's not that amazing…"

But he truly could never understand that it didn't have to be extravagant or clever. It was amazing simply because it came from him. Whatever it was, she already loved it and would probably never take it off…

"I'd go look now, but I'm not properly dressed for standing in front of windows…" She chewed her bottom lip as he grinned, eyes flicking down and back up to her face.

"Speaking of that, reckon this is the longest conversation we've ever had while you've been half naked…"

"So, maybe we should stop talking…"

She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek, and he grinned in that slightly deliriously happy way that made her feel like her heart was going to explode. He sat halfway up on his forearm to move closer, and she hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him down to kiss her again.

Within seconds, her hands were under his shirt, and she was relieved that he was no longer resisting at all as she gathered thin cotton in her fists, working it up his sides. He finally sat up completely to rip the shirt over his head and toss it behind him. A hazy thought about how oddly endearing she found the way he always threw his clothes aside at random tried to formulate, but he attached his mouth to the sensitive skin in front of her ear, dragging his parted lips down the curve of her neck, and all coherence vanished. She wrapped a leg around his waist and pulled him further on top of her, instantly overcome by the feeling of his naked upper body pressing down on hers.

As his mouth covered hers again, she reached down to help with his belt, the sounds of metal and leather floating between the inconsistently spaced noises of kissing and shaky moans. Her body felt suddenly far too warm, yet she would happily stay underneath him like this for approximately forever… especially now that his fingers were moving between her legs. She shuddered against his lips, and he lifted his head to swallow and breathe. He may have been about to speak, but she interrupted his train of thought completely by pushing down his pants and wrapping her small fingers around him. His eyes snapped shut for a second, until he slowly regained the use of his voice.

"S'not been long enough now that this'll hurt you again, y'think?" he slurred, in a slightly drunk sounding way, and he opened his eyes again.

"No," she said, fibbing slightly, as she really didn't know the answer to his question, but she didn't want to give him a single reason to hold back.

As she stared up into his eyes, he removed his wet fingers from between her legs and tapped the back of her hand with his knuckles. She let go of him, he replaced her hand with his own, and she felt her stomach flip with a silent understanding of why he'd done what he'd done, mounting to wonderfully nervous anticipation of what he would do next.

As he ducked to kiss her again, he braced himself more heavily on his free arm, which she noticed was trembling slightly, just before his lips dragged back away from hers enough for him to suck in a sharp breath as he slid inside her. He muttered a series of mostly unintelligible curse words as she arched tighter to his chest and bent her knee higher up his hip, moaning airily with each exhale. She'd almost forgotten exactly how good it felt. He seemed to be having a similar problem as his now-free right hand searched for hers, gripping tightly once they found each other, threading their fingers together as he attempted a rhythm while simultaneously trying to kiss her, which resulted in his open mouth skipping from the corner of hers to her cheek.

Her skirt was bunched at her waist, and her knuckles were somewhat painfully pressing into the floor with the weight inflicted down from his palm, but it was all so perfect that she realised she might actually cry if she didn't get it under control quickly. It had happened twice before, just before the end, and she'd had a difficult time explaining to him that he was worrying about absolutely nothing and that she was only crying from the sheer overwhelm of building up to something for years, finally having it, and it being better than she could have ever imagined.

She didn't want to spend a single second watching him worry again, so she closed her eyes and breathing unsteadily through her mouth and focused on every physical feeling as her nerves built strongly between her legs, shocks of mounting tension low in her abdomen, and his teeth scraped pleasurably across her jaw as he finally released her hand to half-claw at the rug as he finished a few seconds after she did. She only realised she was holding her breath when she felt his hot, shaky exhale against her neck and her legs dropped like jelly to the floor.

The tip of his nose rubbed adorably against her ear before he slid most of the way off of her, left arm still half-draped across her stomach, hand dangling over her hip. She wiggled her trapped left arm out from under him so she could reach up and rake her fingers through his hair. He lazily blinked at her and smiled.

"Sort of doesn't seem fair," he mumbled against her shoulder, "since this is exactly what I want for _my_ birthday."

"I can buy you jewelry, too."

He laughed and snuggled the tiniest bit closer to her before shifting around in frustration.

"Jeans are all twisted…" he muttered, releasing her and standing up.

She watched with slightly glazed eyes as he straightened his pants and zipped his jeans before giving up on the belt and yanking it out to join his jumper and shirt on the floor. But before he could settle next to her again, she sat up and clasped her bra shut, remembering something.

"What were you hiding earlier?"

"Huh?"

He sat in front of her, confused, and she licked her bottom lip, knowing it must not be terribly important if her question hadn't been enough to remind him.

"You had a strange look, like you were thinking about something serious, and you didn't explain it."

"Oh." He scratched his ear and shrugged. "Wasn't hiding anything. Just felt like a prat."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Sometimes it's just sort of… hard to believe you're real. I know that sounds mental…"

He shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin. It took her a second to catch her breath again to speak.

"No. I feel the same way about you," she said in a small voice, smiling back.

He scooted closer and took her hand, and she found it incredibly endearing that he kept his eyes down on their clasped fingers, like he could still find a way to be shy after what they'd just done.

"How long can you stay?" she asked, at a near-whisper.

"As long as you want. Or… until Madame Pince comes and chucks me out…" He grinned at her again, but she was reminded, for a second, of how much trouble they could get into if they were caught.

"I _could_ actually get expelled…"

"Nah, if we get dressed, reckon I could easily convince anyone this was my fault and you had nothing to do with it… which is true."

"Got to get dressed, anyway, so I can see what you bought me!"

An excited little flutter danced in her stomach at the way his ears reddened a bit as he let go of her hand to find his shirt.

* * *

An hour later, she was leaning back against the corner juncture between two tall bookshelves, clothed in his jumper and her skirt, the thin, silver chain of a necklace visible as it angled over her collarbone before it vanished beneath his jumper collar. He was sitting cross-legged in front of her, one of her bare feet in his lap and the other in his hands as he worked his fingers almost absentmindedly up and down the arch, eliciting the occasional small sigh of pleasure from her, in between words. They were in the middle of an argument over whether or not Ron had ever returned the library's copy of Quidditch Through the Ages after he borrowed it for the fourth or fifth time, in 1993, and to say that she'd never had a better birthday would be a serious understatement.


	17. Josie by Blink 182

_**A/N:** Wow. I didn't mean for this long to go by without updating this. I have a few more that I finished quite a while ago on Tumblr before I took a hiatus. Here is #17, and I hope you enjoy / forgive me for my tardiness (on this and other fic, tbh)..._

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 ** _Prompt: "Josie" by Blink 182_**

 _Prompted by: goldythegeek_

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She was sitting in the middle of his bed, flipping distractedly through the Quidditch magazine he'd left open on his bedside table, having long ago finished the book she'd brought up with her. It wasn't that she was worried, exactly… except that she was bloody worried. Fine.

She sighed and roughly turned to the next page, revealing a colourful advertisement for leather gloves and knee pads. Players that she assumed Ron would recognise zoomed around in their uniforms, in the background. She'd really picked the worst possible diversion, given her vague-at-best interest in Quidditch…

She closed her eyes and rubbed them with the heels of her palms, hoping to convince herself not to do something rash like leave the Burrow at two o'clock in the morning, by herself, to look for Ron. He'd gone out with his brothers, she had to remind herself. They were all together and everything was fine.

But… _was_ it?

The night after Voldemort's death, they'd been so exhausted and relieved to have won that they'd slept together in his old Gryffindor dormitory bed, holding onto each other, for a solid ten hours. But, after that, chaos had crept back in around them. There were the funerals, the repairs, the arrests… and then, the sporadic violence as Aurors began to locate Death Eaters who had disappeared in the aftermath of the final battle. She didn't know when she'd feel that it was safe enough to bring her parents home. In fact, she only really knew one thing for sure. Ron actually loved her back. Really. He'd even told her first. And they'd hardly spent ten waking minutes out of each other's presence since.

Until tonight.

Alright. She wasn't worried. She was terrified. Irrationally, ridiculously, overwhelmingly-

A sudden series of loud thumps crescendoing up the stairs made her gasp and clutch her wand in a tight fist. But then, as she held her breath, the door swung roughly open to reveal an incredibly disheveled looking Ron, who stumbled inside, not even noticing her presence as he slammed his door shut again and paused at the foot of his bed, half-sitting, half-falling into it, before giving up and flopping down onto his back. His abrupt movements jostled his magazine out of Hermione's lap, and she was forced to bend a knee out of the way of his head, just before the back of his skull would have crashed down hard.

He flinched, startled, and he finally spotted her, tilting his head back to gaze deliriously up at her shocked face.

"Oh! Hi."

"What happened to you?!" Her heart was thumping madly in her chest at his sudden appearance, and she'd not quite reached the point where she could lean into feeling relieved.

"You're in my room." He attempted a smile, face upside down from her perspective.

"Well spotted."

"What'r'you doin'-"

"You were gone for seven hours."

She noticed that her hands were shaking, but there wasn't much to do about it now. Apparently her pent up nerves had physically caught up with her. As long as she didn't cry, maybe he wouldn't realise…

"Was I really?"

She couldn't respond, for fear that her voice would sound too shrill to understand at this point.

He shifted, and his shoulder crinkled his abandoned magazine. Squinting in a way that might have been considered comical to her under slightly different circumstances, he reached up to see what he'd crushed. Holding the magazine in the air above his face, he raised an eyebrow and tilted his head back again to find her eyes.

"Y'really must've been bored."

He almost smirked.

"Not _bored_!" She'd tried, but she really couldn't help shouting now, watching him wince with surprise. "You say you're going for dinner, so I think you'll be gone two or three hours, and then you come back in the middle of the night, drunk! I thought for sure something horrible had happened!"

"Woah."

He dropped the magazine and twisted around, scrambling to sit on his knees, facing her. His eyes darted a bit, but the teasing, carefree sort of attitude he'd had when he'd spotted her had instantly vanished, even as she noticed him sway and re-balance just slightly.

"You were worried?" he asked quietly.

"Two people were badly injured by raving Death Eaters in London yesterday. No, I wasn't worried at all."

"Shit. M'sorry. Bill kept takin' us t'more pubs."

And just like that, hearing his brother's name, she felt her fear subside somewhat to make way for a bit of shame. His family was grieving, they'd lost Fred a week ago, and here she was, shouting at him. It wasn't entirely safe to be out right now, but she sensed that her fear was a bit disproportionate to the actual danger he'd been in. How could she explain the way she'd tethered herself to him so completely without sounding insane? One week. It had only been one bloody week since she'd kissed him.

But, in reality, the kiss had changed little about how she'd already been feeling for years. It had only made it public, given her the answers to questions she'd never been brave enough to ask him… things they both should have said long ago.

"You're right, though," he added in a scratchy voice. "Would've been worried, too, if you'd gone out that long. Didn't think about it. M'really sorry."

"Just send your Patronus or something, next time," she sniffed.

"Thas a good idea," he slurred, reminding her that she was face to face with a Ron she'd never seen before… a very drunk Ron.

He shifted a bit closer to her, and she suspected he was waiting to be sure it was safe before he would touch her. She'd inflicted a fair amount of injuries on him in their complicated history…

"I know you need to be with your family right now. I'm just on edge with everything we went though, everything _still_ happening, and-"

"You're my family, too."

His eyes weren't leaving hers, and there were several ways she could take his words, all of which made her stomach flutter and her cheeks warm considerably. For so many years, he'd made her feel like she belonged, and maybe she'd even taken that for granted. Harry had been viewed as a son to Ron's parents, and now she was starting to see how he had given her just as meaningful of a place here. She'd been an outsider with a non-magic family, and she'd certainly not been famous or important. So the only reason he had to do what he'd done was because of how much he'd always cared about her. She recalled him holding her hand at Grimmauld Place, seriously offering to teach her his family tree…

She couldn't think of words to follow his lovely sentence, so she looked down and reached out to take his hand instead. His long fingers weaved between hers, and she could see his face relax as she looked back up to meet his eyes.

"Just can't let anything happen to you," she said softly.

"Nah, m'fine." He paused and narrowed his eyes slightly. " _You_ okay?"

He suddenly looked so adorably concerned, and she couldn't stop her lips from twitching.

"Well, yes," she said, committing to a smile. "I've just been sitting here all night, haven't I."

"Have you? Where's e'rybody else?"

"Your parents went to stay the night with Mrs Tonks and Teddy, remember? Ginny's been in bed for ages, and Harry's presumably sleeping in Percy's, but I wouldn't be surprised if he went back down to Ginny's, once he saw me come up here…"

He blinked slowly at her.

"Are y'staying in my room?"

She sniffed and averted her eyes from his gaze.

"Do you want me-"

"Yeah," he laughed over her, swaying slightly again as she pressed her lips together.

"Not planning to sleep in your shoes and jeans, are you?"

"Mm no."

He ran his thumb across the back of her hand, and she was momentarily distracted from her original mission. Clearing her throat, she managed to extricate her fingers from his and slide off his bed to stand next to him. He tried to follow her, but as he straightened his knees, he leaned heavily to the left, and she grabbed ahold of his bicep as he caught himself with a fist on the edge of his mattress.

He shook his head and squinted at her.

"Fuck, I'm drunk."

"I know."

He sat back down on the edge of his bed and half-smiled sheepishly up at her.

"Didn'mean to."

"How many pubs did you go to?"

"Dunno."

"Oh, that's a good sign!" She knelt in front of him and reached for his right foot. "How did you even get home like this?"

He was staring distractedly down at her hands untying his shoelaces.

"Hm? Oh. Charlie."

"He Apparated drunk?"

She tugged the first shoe off and moved to his left foot.

"He's prob'ly not drunk."

"Where is he now?"

The second shoe thudded to the floor.

"Twins' room." He paused and exhaled heavily. "George's room. Shit."

"Ron…"

"M'fine," he said, roughly wiping his watery eyes with the back of his hand.

She scooted closer to him, on her knees, so her hips were against his shins.

"You don't have to be fine," she said in a small voice, feeling her own eyes water a bit.

He stared at her for a long, silent moment, and she was desperate to know what he was thinking. But then he reached out and slid his left hand back along her jaw.

"Yer too good f'me, y'know."

"Don't ever say that again," she said immediately, glaring at him before lifting her own hand to hold his wrist, keeping his palm there against her face.

"Why?"

"Because it's rubbish, and you know it. And you know _I_ think it is."

His fingers spread at her jaw joint, moving up over her ear, into her hair.

"Need me to prove it?" she added, keeping her eyes fixed on his and raising her brows.

"Maybe," he laughed, reaching up with his right hand to mirror his left.

"Come here."

He ducked down the few inches necessary to kiss her, meshing his parted lips with hers as she shut her eyes and moaned lightly into his mouth. She slid her fingers down his forearms, up the curve of his elbows to his biceps, and then he pulled away just a bit, dazed.

"You taste like whisky," she whispered, slowly opening her eyes.

"Sorry," he grinned back.

She shook her head, but he dropped his hands from her face, and she leaned slightly away, chewing her bottom lip for a second in contemplation, but she'd seen him in only his boxers before, so… Was her plan now really so different? It was fine…

"Lie down."

He raised a brow, but his eyelids were slowly slipping shut, making for a slightly ridiculous combination.

"Just do it," she laughed softly, and he smiled as he tilted sideways and shifted up until his head was on his pillow and he was lying on his back. She got up off the floor and climbed over his legs to straddle his thighs, and his nearly completely shut eyes popped open again.

"What…" His hands hovered a few inches away from either side of her waist.

"Not sleeping in your jeans, right?" she reminded him, and she hoped he couldn't see her flushing in the dark as he watched her reaching for his jeans button.

"Right," he said, in a low, raspy sort of voice that made her hands shake a bit.

She moved on to his zipper and quickly pulled it down, reaching for the belt loops at his hips and tugging, and she began to crawl backward down his legs. When she arrived at his shins, she climbed off him, and he helped her finish the job by shifting his legs around and kicking his jeans off his ankles.

"Hot up here, innit?" And before she could respond, he sat halfway up and reached over his shoulder to yank his shirt roughly off over his head, flinging it to the floor and collapsing to his back again.

Her eyes roamed down his almost naked body, and she realised how hot it really was in his room, quite immediately.

"Not sleeping in _your_ jeans, are you?" he said in a low voice.

She caught his eyes, and he grinned at her. But, rather than playfully scold him, which came more naturally to her, she licked her lips and climbed out of his bed.

"No, I'm not," she said, forcing herself not to look back over at him while she unbuttoned, unzipped, and tugged off her own jeans, stepping out of them as they pooled at her ankles.

Standing in only her vest and knickers, she chanced a glance at him, as she approached his bed again, and she found him lying on his side, facing her, glassy eyes staring up at her, lips parted slightly. She cleared her throat again and climbed over him to settle on her side, closest to the wall. Scooting up behind him, she watched him turn his head until she could see his profile.

"Ermynee-"

"Is this okay?" she whispered, suddenly a bit self-conscious as her legs tucked up behind his.

"Yeah, 'course." He reached back and loosely held onto her bare thigh for a second, and she closed her eyes. "Thank you."

"For what?" She opened her eyes again to stare at the wisps of ginger hair curling at the base of his neck.

"Bloody hell, room's spinning."

"Ron-"

"You're just… m'sorry I scared you."

She draped her arm over his waist, brushing her fingers down his stomach. He shivered with pleasure and reached to take her hand in his, pulling it up higher.

"Don't ever leave me," he mumbled, pressing her fingers to his lips.

"Wasn't planning on it," she said, smiling as she rested her cheek against his bare back.


	18. Fields of Gold by Sting

_**A/N:** I'm not exactly sure what about the song inspired this particular fic, aside from the title and instrumentation, which gave me a little vision of fields, glowing in the sun, whooshing past a train window. Hope you enjoy what I've done with the prompt! x_

 _Oh! And let me just dedicate "improper use of shared furniture" to the English Muffins... x_

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 _ **Prompt: "Fields of Gold" by Sting**_

 _Prompted by:_ _handsomekazoobagins_

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She was jarred abruptly awake as her head bobbed uncomfortably against the train window to her right. Smoke was billowing by and clouding her view, but, as she fully woke, she realised - the last thing she'd seen had been those endless, golden fields rolling past as they'd crossed through the countryside, mesmerising her to sleep. And now, the Hogwarts Express was rolling to a stop, noisy crowds were just outside on the platform, and she was home.

She gasped and stood, tugging open her window to lean out, even as the train continued its slow movement, loud whistle blowing to announce their arrival. But there were too many people, and she couldn't see him. At Christmas, she'd been wide awake and sitting on the edge of her seat, and she'd spotted him almost immediately, his ginger head several inches above anyone else around him. But now, she could hardly see the floor of the platform from the crowds, and as she glanced down the length of the train, she watched many other students waving toward their families out their own windows. She knew he'd been out late for work the night before, which actually accounted for her being so tired today. She'd stayed up hoping he would floo when he got in, but he hadn't, and she'd fitfully gone to bed, setting her alarm for a bit earlier than necessary.

The first few hours on the train had been filled with anxious anticipation, and her stomach had been rapidly fluttering with butterflies since breakfast. It was always a bit like this, seeing him after a long time apart, but it was much, much worse today. This was it. This was closing the final chapter of their time apart. They'd made it through the last time she'd had to say goodbye to him on this platform, the last time she'd had to hug him too tight and breathe deeply and hope he would stay safe and that she would be able to properly distract herself from his absence by getting lost in books and lessons.

As she scanned forward again, she spotted her parents, and she waved, smiling. She was happy to see them, of course, but she felt a bit like she might throw up if she tried to speak.

Just then, Ginny burst into the compartment behind her. Hermione withdrew her head from the window and turned around.

"Oh, good, you're awake. I waited too long to change out of my robes, but you were asleep when I left to do it. Let's go, yeah?"

"Did you see-

"Ron?" Ginny smirked. "Nah, I was in the loo. But he'll be here. Come on!"

Hermione reached for her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and grasped the handle of her trunk to drag it out of the compartment. Following Ginny, she awkwardly turned the corner from her compartment to the main corridor, shifting her trunk around behind her… until a hand closed around hers on the handle and she gasped, turning around so quickly that her hair slapped whoever was behind her across the chest.

Ron was smirking down at her, his long fingers squeezing her hand.

"Found you," he said.

"Ron!"

She reached out to grab his shirt in her free hand, tugging him closer, but her trunk was in the way, and all she could do was rest her forehead on his chest for a second as he spread a large hand across her back.

"What are you doing?" she laughed, as she lifted her head to gaze up at him. "The train's still moving."

"Stopped now," he informed her, glancing out the window through the nearest compartment. "Just didn't want to wait any longer, so I hopped on."

"I was looking for you when we arrived, but I couldn't find you."

"Hermione!" Ginny called from the opposite end of the corridor. "What are you- oh."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Ginny who grinned at her and shook her head.

"Couldn't wait another minute, Ron?"

"No," he called back, smiling as his sister rolled her eyes.

"Let's get out of here," Hermione suggested, and he let go of her to reach up and snatch her bag from her shoulder. "What are you-"

"Never got the chance to carry your bag around at school," he explained, ears going slightly pink.

"And it's been bothering you, has it?" she teased him, though she felt those butterflies begin to dance around quite frantically again.

"What if it has? Go on. I've got this, too," he said, swiping her hand out of the way of her trunk and taking hold of it himself.

She studied him for a second longer before turning around, empty-handed, and leading them off the train. They were almost immediately bombarded by Mr and Mrs Weasley, Harry, and Hermione's parents, who had all gathered together by the door when they'd spotted Ginny. Hermione was tugged between hugs and hellos, losing Ron behind her, and as happy as she was to see them all, she was feeling quite ready to be done with this part of the day and arrive at the part where she was unpacking her things at Grimmauld Place… directly into Ron's room.

But everyone was discussing plans, and the night seemed to be expanding away from getting Ron alone for long enough to even say a proper hello.

"Let's eat. I'm starved," Ginny suggested, holding Harry's hand.

"How about that pub we went to last summer, Hermione?" her mother suggested. "We all liked it well enough, and it's not far-"

"Wait," she interrupted, knowing she was about to do something rash but finding it hard to care.

She pushed back through her family and approached Ron, aiming her wand at her trunk and vanishing it away to his room, doing the same for her bag as he raised a brow down at her. But before he could speak, she grasped his hand tightly and dragged him back through her surprised looking family, blushing at Mrs Weasley's smile, and they disappeared into the crowds.

"Hermione, what-" but he was interrupted by someone's shoulder brushing against his arm, and she dragged him further along, ducking into the dark shadows behind a wide, stone column, one leg of an archway that led to a solid brick wall.

She finally dropped his hand and whipped around, reaching up to hold his face in both hands, pulling him down to kiss her. She watched his eyes go wide for a second, just before she closed her own eyes and leaned into the soft pressure of his mouth on hers. But it took him no time at all to catch up, moaning against her lips and sliding his hands up her back to pull her closer against him.

Within seconds, what she had thought would be a quick kiss out of sight of their families turned into teeth grazing bottom lips and tongues meeting as he pushed her backward against the dark wall. As her body hit the solid surface, she felt the pressure of his chest against hers so much more completely, and she pushed up on the tips of her toes to align his hips with hers, tightly wrapping her arms around his neck. One of his hands scraped down between her back and the wall until his fingers were digging over the swell of her arse, and he bent his knees slightly, tilting his head so his nose bumped hers as he switched sides to kiss her again, hardly taking in one full breath in between.

She forced herself to remember they were only barely hidden in a public place, and they absolutely could not shag right there on the platform.

"Ron," she muttered into his mouth.

"Mmmm?" he moaned back, sucking her upper lip between both of his.

She almost laughed, giddiness rising up from her belly at the idea of them having a full conversation without their mouths ever completely separating. But she took a desperate measure as he ground his hips into her, biting his lip a bit harder than she normally would have.

"Oi!" But he backed only half an inch away from her, eyes heavy-lidded with desire as she dropped down to her heels again and slid her hands along the sides of his neck.

"Have to stop before I shag you in public."

"Fucking hell…" he panted, dropping his forehead to the wall over her shoulder.

"Do you think our parents will be offended if we tell them I'm too tired for dinner, and we go right home?"

"God. I'm not hungry anymore anyway."

"You aren't?"

"Not for actual food…"

She laughed as she brushed her thumbs over his cheeks, watching his eyes flutter shut with pleasure.

"Well, pull yourself together," she said with a grin. "We have to go back and tell them, at least." His eyes popped open, but he was grinning back.

"Oi, who dragged who back here to snog because she couldn't wait?"

"Oh, you were fine with another three hours without-"

He cut her off by kissing her again, weaving a hand up into her hair. She felt her body melt against the wall, trapped and hidden by his strong body, one of his hands moving to her waist to briefly dip under her shirt and run his fingers up the bare skin of her side. She shivered as he pulled his mouth away from hers again.

"No, I wasn't." She blinked, slowly recalling the question she'd just asked him. "Let's get the hell out of here."

She linked her fingers with his and started to move away from the wall, but he paused.

"Actually, give me a second," he groaned. "Just don't touch me."

She bit her bottom lip, trying not to laugh. It really wasn't fair how much easier it usually was for her to recover in public, considering she had nothing physical to hide aside from swollen lips… He closed his eyes and took a couple of calming breaths, but he kept holding her hand.

"Right," he said, opening his eyes again and gesturing toward the crowded platform behind her.

They made their way back to where they had unceremoniously left their bewildered families, only to find Harry and Ginny standing there alone.

"You're not coming with us, am I right?" Ginny asked in a rhetorical sounding way, not even waiting for either of them to speak.

"I did fall asleep on the train," Hermione tried weakly. "I'm pretty tired…"

Harry failed to hide his smirk and short laugh, which he playfully turned into a cough.

"Which obviously explains why you're both blushing Gryffindor scarlet and why Hermione's hair's a complete mess," Ginny grinned.

"More than usual?" Ron teased, and she squeezed his hand too tight, watching him wince.

"Go on," Harry said, still smirking at them, "but I expect silencing charms to be thoroughly tested before I get home."

Ron laughed and leaned down to speak directly into Hermione's ear, making her shiver again with the low raspiness of his voice.

"Harry's got some rules about improper use of shared furniture…"

"Oh, God, you're disgusting," Ginny groaned, having clearly heard Ron's failed attempt to speak quietly.

"Come on," Harry suggested, gesturing for Ginny to follow him. "We'll explain to your parents but you owe me dinner."

"Deal," Ron called after him, and Hermione linked her arm with his, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked toward the back of the platform to Apparate home.


	19. Ready For It by Taylor Swift

_**A/N:** At the serious risk of writing one too many DH tent fics (omg I'm so obsessed, I need an intervention), here is this. Thank you for the prompts so far! Hope you enjoy x_

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 _ **Prompt: "…Ready for it?" by Taylor Swift - "In the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do, baby…"**_

 _Prompted by: catherineanne512_

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She was so bloody cold.

The trees all around her were frosted with glassy ice, frozen stark still and haunting. Her toes were numb inside her boots, and the lining had worn down and torn, creating an uncomfortable ridge of ripped fabric, awkwardly pushing against the centre of the bottom of her right foot.

She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. She could hear Ron moving around inside the tent, and she didn't want to even question how she knew for sure it was him, just from the sounds he made. But he was supposed to relieve her from watch soon, so she could count on that.

She was too cold to speak to him.

She was too cold to breathe.

He emerged sooner than expected, damn ginger stubble and eyelashes like the curving crystal limbs of the trees around her.

"Hey." His gruff, sleepy voice made her muscles tense in a fierce effort not to respond.

She managed the faintest nod before brushing past him to go inside, and oh how she wished she hadn't seen that look of sad longing cross his face as she'd let him down. Maybe he wanted to hear her voice tonight as much as she ironically ached for his. He wasn't the one being silent.

She ignored Harry's light snoring in his bunk, and she stripped off her jumper, put on two of Ron's instead, and tugged his wool cap over her head, shivering as she crawled into her bed. She'd been wearing his clothes for two weeks, and he hadn't mentioned it. She sighed heavily, yanking her blankets up to her neck and curling onto her side, closing her eyes.

It really was a bad idea to make her bunk _and her bloody skin_ smell like him, intoxicating her dreams, making her feel his fingers on her body in the deepest realms of sleep. She'd forgiven him, clearly… the way she let him touch her in her fantasies…

To be fair, she'd been doing that for years. Only… only maybe not quite like this. Maybe not with such a burning flame, so much skin… his naked body meshed to hers, his hand between her legs. Blame it on the cold, on desperation, she thought… _on being madly in love with him._

She sighed again, gathering his long jumper sleeves over her hands to warm them. Nights were too long, days too short, and the ten year plan she'd envisioned at age twelve had had two startling amendments over the years - considering how his last name sounded, after her own, around age fifteen, and the possibility of freezing to death, while a war raged on far away from them, making her reconsider that being hacked off with him for abandoning her didn't have to mean he couldn't share her bed at night…

Abandoning _her_. When had she become selfish enough to make everything he did somehow… about her? Maybe it was the way he'd apologised again, in the dark, while Harry was sleeping, telling her he'd never meant to hurt her, never wanted to leave her…

Somewhere between anger, love and lust, she'd drifted off to sleep. What felt like seconds later, a rustling sound woke her too quickly, pulse flying away, adrenaline coursing through her limbs.

She flipped over so fast, reflexes on high alert, and suddenly his wrist was in her tight fist as she yanked him down. He gasped and leaned over her bed, throwing out his free hand to the opposite side of her head, palm shaking with his weight and the nearly visible tension between them. His face was inches from her own, his wide blue eyes locked on hers.

The rate of her already compromised breathing seemed to triple, chest heaving as she stared up at him. He wasn't moving away. His body was so, so warm. He blinked, and she felt her heart catch in her throat.

"What are you doing?!" she whispered harshly.

"Looking for my hat," he hissed back, gaze flicking up to her head.

She frantically let go of him, as if just realising what she had done… as if a bucket of ice water had been tipped over her head.

She watched his neck move as he swallowed, taking his bloody time about getting up, shifting his hand by her head, fingers brushing through her hair as he sat up on the edge of her bed. She sat up, too, tugging off his hat and sharply holding it out for him to take.

"You can have it," he said, somewhat weakly, gaze stuck on her outstretched hand.

She briefly imagined how he might react if she crawled into his lap and snogged him… She cleared her throat, dropping his hat to her bed and protectively crossing her arms over her chest, recalling that she was wearing two more of his things, and surely he could see it, even in the dark, now that her blankets had fallen down to her lap.

"No," she shot back. "It's yours. You were looking for it. You should take it."

"Didn't know you had it or I wouldn't've-"

"What difference does that make?"

She glared at him, but the pretense melted as his eyes grew sad, creased at the corners.

"Why're we fighting?" he asked. "It's a bloody hat."

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and where was all this rage coming from? She'd just had his open mouth on her neck in her dreams.

"I've got your jumpers on, as well," she pointed out, ignoring his question.

Hands shaking, she crossed her arms in front of her body and tugged them both off in one go, static clinging and frizzing her hair to set a new record. She threw the jumpers at him, watching him wince as they struck his arm. Not from the physical impact, of course. Something else.

Sad eyes, parted lips, a fearful gaze that wouldn't meet her own sharp stare.

He really wouldn't look at her, even as she silently screamed for him to.

"What can I do to fix us?" His words were so soft, so timid, so gorgeous.

The cutting response she'd have given before was that he could do nothing. But that was so far from the truth that it felt like so much more than a lie to imagine saying it aloud.

Sitting in only her vest, she was suddenly freezing again. Her body twitched as she tried not to shiver.

He noticed. She saw the moment he did, and he finally looked at her.

"I'll do anything you want to get you back," he whispered, and she wasn't going to be able to keep herself from crying, much longer.

"I don't know what to say to you."

This was the best truth she could offer, because she had many, many endless thoughts, desires, imagining how he'd feel, what he might do. She had many feelings of pain and sadness, hunger and an aching loneliness. But he had those things, too. He'd suffered, only in another way, one she'd been too hurt to risk trying to understand. And he was suffering now, locked in hell. Did it matter so much to him, what she thought, how she looked at him, that he'd do anything? _Anything_?

"That's okay," he said, and it took her a minute to pair his response with what she'd said before. "Don't have to say anything. Keep the hat and the jumpers. You're freezing."

He moved to get up, and all instincts collided as she scrambled to her knees and grabbed ahold of his arm, gasping at her own desperation. His eyes flashed to hers, and she sucked in an unsteady breath through her parted lips.

"You'll do anything?" she barely whispered, and he swallowed, nodding.

"Anything. What d'you need?"

"Don't give up."

She watched him press his lips together as he tried not to cry. God, she could see the relief flowing through him as he nodded.

"Would never," he choked out, trying to smile.

Her hand loosened on his arm, but she slid her fingers down over his jumper sleeve. He was so close, and he wasn't looking away from her now.

She was supposedly brave, though she'd felt far from it recently, and perhaps it was simply time to prove it to herself again. She leaned forward, tilting her head and resting her cheek on his shoulder. His hand flew up, as if he had lost control over… control. He flattened his palm to her bare shoulder blade and dropped his face to her hair. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes as she rubbed her cheek against scratchy wool.

"Bloody hell, you really _are_ cold."

"Not so much now," she mumbled, draping her arm out across his stomach, clenching her fingers in the opposite side of his jumper.


	20. Ron thought he knew

_**A/N:**_ _So, I have to apologize to Harry, for using him against his will at the end of this fic. I feel like it's a fairly common thing to do, to make him suffer in these situations, but… I won't use the phrase cop out, more that I just couldn't let Ron and Hermione deal with The Consequences on their own… Also, this is very, very smutty… Hope you enjoy! x_

* * *

 _ **Prompt: Ron thought he knew the first time Hermione saw him naked; he was wrong**_

 _Prompted by: ykickamoocow111_

* * *

Snow was silently falling outside the Burrow, drifting lazily down past the windows, mesmerising. Her trunk was packed, and everyone was moving about. His mother was calling something out to Ginny as she made her way down to the kitchen, but Hermione was stuck in this room, thinking how she was meant to have slept in the camp bed adjacent Ginny's. She'd only unmade the sheets last night to avoid suspicion.

Ron was so quiet in the doorway, and she didn't see him at first, until his reflection appeared in the window. As she turned around, she locked onto his sad eyes, and he tried to smile. He'd never wanted to give her more reasons to give up… to stay. She didn't need more than she already had, anyway. She was so close to never leaving him again.

"Mum says we're leaving in half an hour," he told her in a low voice, and she nodded, moving closer.

He'd cut his hair a bit shorter than it had been over the summer, and she could see a red mark on his pale skin, just beneath his right ear… one she recalled leaving there with her teeth, sometime around two o'clock in the morning, completely naked, on top of him, in his bed... She started to point it out to him, but his eyes roamed down her face to her lips…

"Is Harry in your room?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah, getting dressed."

"Come here," and she grabbed his hand, tugging him to follow her out of Ginny's room, quickly across the landing, into the loo. She shut the door behind them, breathing too fast for the short distance they had traveled, and he placed his wand on the countertop, gazing down at her.

For a long, silent moment, they stared at each other in the dark, the air nearly crackling between them with longing.

"I don't want to go back."

"Don't want you to, either."

His eyes were fierce and strong, but his voice was cracking.

"Ron…"

"But you are," he added, never looking away, "and it'll be fine."

"It won't be," she shivered, irrationally. It was ridiculous, really. They'd come this far already. But sometimes she just _wanted_ to be irrational, with him.

"Yeah," he swallowed, eyes flicking down to her lips again. "It will."

It was pointless to fight it. How many times had she agonised over her choice, frantic that she was making a mistake before being reminded, usually by him, that this was what she needed to do?

He stepped closer, until he was almost touching her…

They were the only two people in the world, just then. His eyes traced the curves of her face, her own gaze connecting freckles across the bridge of his nose, lips parting as she watched his Adam's apple move in his throat, as he swallowed.

He reached up, his hand so close to her face but still… not quite touching. It was something she'd grown to crave, the way they'd often hold back until they couldn't take it anymore. She knew she would break first, and so she was surprised when his fingertips touched her cheek, and he let out a wavering exhale. But she didn't wait for him to move closer. She did the rest for him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down to crush her mouth. He moved immediately, grabbing her so strongly around the waist that he lifted her off the floor, and she half-squealed, half-moaned against his lips. Sliding his hands down her back, over her arse, past the pleated hem of her skirt to her thighs, he hoisted her legs up around his waist and slammed her back against the door, their mouths separating for a moment at impact, eyes meeting as he shifted his hips between her legs and pressed more firmly against her.

"Counter," she exhaled against his mouth, and his body twitched, muscles tensed as she locked her heels behind him. He turned them frantically left, gripping her upper thighs and chaotically sweeping cups and toothpaste and hair brushes to the floor as he rested her arse on the countertop.

She pressed a grin to the corner of his mouth as he slid his hands out from under her legs to claw up, inside the back of her jumper, spanning her shoulder blades with his large palms and long fingers. Their lips meshed again in open-mouthed, frenzied kisses, before he broke away and rubbed his sandpaper rough jaw against the side of her neck, making her gasp in short little bursts, clutching his biceps. She scraped her nails down his arms and squirmed to grasp the hems of her jumper and vest together in her hands, and he leaned away to help her tug them off, over her head, flinging them to the floor.

Her hands were on his belt as he reached over his shoulder to yank his own shirt off, rounding his back a bit and causing his flat stomach to concave away from her, making her work on his belt even easier to complete, the sounds of panting, uneven breaths mingling with the clanging of metal.

She recalled a vision she often saw in dreams, even now. One that had got her through (and truthfully, made her ache with longing) countless cold nights.

"I saw you once, in the tent."

"Huh?" His hair was standing on end from the friction and static of his shirt, which was now lying with her jumper and vest on the floor.

"You were in the loo, but you didn't tie the flap, and I didn't know… oh, God."

"What was I doing?"

"Changing clothes."

"Oh." A flush crept up his neck, but he grinned.

"Sometimes, when I'm… alone… I still think about seeing the muscles of your back moving and-and… your hipbones… ginger hair and all those freckles..."

He reached between her legs, and her hand dropped limp from unzipping his jeans at the feeling of his fingers on her already soaked knickers.

"Wanted you so m-much," she trembled.

"Fuckin' hell," he muttered, hand shaking slightly as he pulled her knickers to the side and felt her wet, swollen skin with the tips of his fingers. She reached down and held his hand against her, pressing two of his fingers further inside her. His eyes rolled back, and he groaned, her hand moving away again to wrap around his wrist.

"Found a pair of your knickers under my towel on the floor of the tent loo once," he said, in a deep, scratchy voice that made her legs tighten around his hand.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Had to put them in your bag without you seeing, 'cause I thought you'd be embarrassed. Had a dream that night I was taking them off you with my teeth…"

He smirked at her, an expression that was almost comically at odds with the gentle way he brushed his thumb across her cheek.

"Ron," she whispered, shakily, "I love you."

"God. Love you-"

She slid her hand inside his pants.

"-fuuck."

He removed his hand from between her legs and covered the thin cotton of her bra, pinching her nipple through it. She tried to prop her foot on the edge of the counter, reaching down to tug her knickers off, but he quickly helped her instead, moving back enough to lift her hips and yank them down her thighs, over her knit stockings, giving up a bit prematurely as they caught on her left ankle, and she widened her legs again, shoving his pants down.

Gripping her hips in both hands, he moved frantically back between her legs, and she gathered her skirt quickly out of the way, just before he pressed into her opening and tugged her a bit roughly forward, filling her completely.

"RON!" she screamed, arching her back and pressing her breasts to his lightly sweat-coated chest. "Oh, _God…_ "

"Fuck, y'feel amazing _…_ " he slurred, pumping into her.

She leaned back a bit, supported by his strong forearm across her lower back, and he tilted into her, rubbing across her swollen, burning skin, above where they were joined, with each thrust. Her left bra strap slid off her shoulder, loosely draping over her upper arm as she yanked his hair, making him hiss in a blissful combination of pleasure and pain.

" _Ermynee…_ "

One large hand squeezed her bare arse before sliding up to settle his thumb in the crease at the top of her thigh. His open mouth covered hers in an approximation of a messy kiss, and his hand was moving again, up over the bunched material of her skirt. He arrived at her chest once more, tugging a bra cup down, covering her bare breast with a warm palm instead.

She pressed herself harder into him, half-moaning and half-screaming into his mouth as he hit that spot so deep inside her, his thumb and knuckles rolling her rock hard nipple back and forth. And she felt her orgasm building rapidly, bucking her body against him as he sucked her bottom lip between his, loudly crying out with each deep connection until her heart was beating in her ears and his chest was vibrating with his own low growls.

Quite suddenly, he tore his mouth away from hers and tensed up.

"Shit."

"What?" she breathed, recognising the startling change in his tone of voice.

Pulse beating rapidly, she watched him fumble for his wand, which had fallen behind her, into the sink.

"Muffliato."

Her eyes widened to perfect circles as she gaped at him, horrified. His wand clattered back to the sink.

"Think anybody heard us?" he grinned, blushing to the roots of his hair.

"Oh my God."

"S'fine. My parents will get over it when I marry you."

"What?!"

His eyes widened briefly at his own, clearly unfiltered words, before filling with lust again, climbing both hands up her back to fumble with her bra clasp. The second it came undone, he ripped it down her arms, and she pressed her forehead to his, arms locking around his neck.

"Bloody hell. Still wanna do this?" He pushed just a bit deeper inside her, and she shivered.

"Can't think straight with you… doing that…"

"Doing what?" he asked cheekily, barely moving but making himself twitch inside her. His plan backfired slightly as his eyes glazed over, and he groaned.

" _Ron…_ "

He reached up and held her face in both hands, and she felt herself slipping away in his gaze again. Lost.

She slid her chest against his, and he moved slowly, eyes locked on each other's. She wasn't going to cry, but she was close enough.

"Promise I'll see you again soon."

"Tell me when you want me," he said, in that raspy, low voice she couldn't believe was just for her, "and I'll be there."

She tilted her head half an inch to the right and kissed him slowly, moving so gently with him, feeling her body grow impossibly sensitive again, nerves tingling and thighs clenching as he groaned into her mouth, and she felt a familiar wave of rippling pleasure as he came inside her.

She kept her mouth lightly touching his for several long seconds afterward, breathing unevenly between the gaps in their lips. Finally tilting his head back a bit to take a proper breath, he lowered his hands to her thighs and slid out of her.

He licked his lips, found her eyes again, and his mouth tilted into a wide, lopsided grin.

"Remember that time I asked you to marry me while we were shagging on the bathroom sink?"

"Shut up," she laughed, but her stomach fluttered delightfully.

"Too late for that now." He lifted a brow and she felt her chest and neck burn with renewed embarrassment. How had she nearly forgotten...

"Ron. Your mum will never let me stay here again…"

"We don't know… for _sure…_ that they heard us…"

"Oh, right. I forgot the Burrow was bloody soundproof…"

"You _were_ screaming, a bit…" He looked far too proud of this statement.

"And you were quiet as a mouse, yourself…"

He laughed, but she knew how little he was looking forward to leaving this room, judging from the way he tousled his hair and sniffed.

She knew him so well.

He ducked down to pick up their discarded clothes as she straightened her skirt and hopped off the counter, tugging her stockings back into place, to mid-thigh. He dropped her jumper and vest to the counter and wrestled his shirt over his head as she located her bra. When he emerged again, he reached behind her to grab his wand.

"I'll just Apparate to my room and walk down," he suggested. "Fingers crossed?"

"I'm not leaving the loo til you assure me your parents aren't going to hex me…" She fastened her bra and crossed her arms protectively over her chest as he winced.

"S'not gonna be you they'll hex, but I'll come knock once they've finished with me…"

He turned then, Disapparating…

* * *

Harry was sitting in the middle of the camp bed he'd "used" in Ron's room the previous night, and he distantly wondered if they were fooling anyone in this whole house with their sleeping arrangements… which unfortunately reminded him of what he'd encountered, minutes ago.

Ron suddenly Apparated to the centre of his room, red-faced and tousled, and Harry shuddered, attempting to drown mental images of why-

"Oh, you're still up here?" he asked Harry.

"You owe me."

"Huh?"

Ron crossed to his chest of drawers and took a look at his face in the small mirror that rested on the top, raking his fingers through his hair to straighten it.

"Saw Hermione dragging you into the loo from the landing above, as I was coming down..."

Ron's attention turned fully to Harry, eyebrows raised.

"How is it even possible to get that carried away?" Harry continued. "You two are bloody loud…"

"Goddamn it," Ron sighed. "I was still hoping no one heard-"

"Oh, I think I'm the only one," Harry corrected, standing and shaking his head with disgust. "Lucky me… You're welcome, by the way."

Ron blinked twice before chuckling and roughly tugging Harry in for a one-armed hug.

"I love you, Harry."

"If you can't remember how silencing charms work, at least take a second to Apparate to the shed or something, Jesus." But Harry was laughing now, too, and Ron let go of him to sigh with relief.

"I'll tell Hermione to thank you-"

"Hell no," Harry shuddered again. "Don't think I can look directly at her for the next few hours at least…"

"Well, she'll be on the train before then, so…" Ron sniffed, his expression turning serious.

"It's fine, by the way," Harry said after a moment, feeling his chest clench a bit, both for Ron's pained expression and the long stretch of time Harry himself was about to go without seeing Ginny on a daily basis.

"What is?" Ron asked.

"We never finished talking about it, but you can ask her to move in with us, when she's done with school."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. And you know how you're gonna repay me for today?"

"How?" Ron asked, following Harry toward the door to head downstairs. "Whatever it is, go for it. Dunno how I'd've survived Mum if you hadn't intervened…"

"Ginny's moving in, too."


	21. COUNT ON ME by NEEDTOBREATHE

_**Prompt: COUNT ON ME by NEEDTOBREATHE**_

 _Prompted by: aisforr_

* * *

Months living in a tent in the dead of winter made you notice and appreciate, so much more than ever before, what used to feel like minor conveniences. Thus found Ron, two nights after their escape from Malfoy Manor and arrival at Shell Cottage, taking what might have been the longest shower of his life so far. Continuous scalding water painted his pale skin a deep pink, as if he'd stayed much too long out in the sun.

When he finally emerged, dressed in a thin cotton shirt and pyjamas, the house was eerily silent and dark. A glance at his watch proved it was well past midnight, and he was torn about what to do as he approached the closed door to Hermione and Luna's room. He didn't want to disturb her, but it was strange not to be able to see her in her bed, so close to his own. He'd gotten too used to living together, he reckoned. But no part of him wanted to stop.

Resigned, he quietly made his way downstairs, unsure if he'd be able to sleep. A routine had been established of waking in the small hours of the night to sit watch, and he thought he'd probably find it difficult for a long while yet to assure his subconscious that he didn't need to be on alert.

As he turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, he realised that someone had left a fire glowing low in the sitting room. Harry and Dean's soft snores wafted toward him from the sofa and the floor behind it, but he quickly spotted Hermione, sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, a blanket draped around her shoulders.

"Hey," he whispered as he walked up next to her, fully aware of just how much relief her presence brought him.

"Hi," she whispered back, smiling up at him.

"Thought you'd be in bed."

She was sifting through items from her beaded bag, and her eyes were glowing beautifully in the light from the fire. He sat quietly next to her, curious.

"Couldn't sleep," she muttered, but something about the way she'd said it made him question if she was being entirely truthful. Of course it could simply be the trauma she'd experienced, and he felt like a git for even wondering if there was more to it.

"Sorry," he replied simply, bending his knees up and resting his elbows on them, watching her match pairs of socks on the rug in front of her.

She licked her bottom lip and stopped working, but her gaze remained cast down, and he could see how hard she was thinking about something.

"What?" he heard himself whisper, unable to wait.

"I don't know how to say it," she whispered back, both their voices kept low so as not to wake Dean on the sofa behind them.

Her acknowledgment that she had been considering something she couldn't express while he'd been sitting inches away from her made his heart hammer almost uncomfortably behind his ribs. Patience really never had been his strongest virtue. Add a large dose of anticipation, and he felt slightly dizzy.

"I can't find a few of your socks," she admitted, startlingly changing the subject. He swallowed thickly and tried to care for a second about ruddy socks.

"Oh. Well… don't worry about it, yeah? They were prob'ly worn out and full of holes anyway."

"Everything got shifted around so much when we left the tent. I'm just trying to get it organised before we leave again."

"Leave?"

"We can't stay here forever…"

"I know," he said quickly, almost too harshly, and he winced. "Sorry, I know. But we've got loads to plan, and we just got here, and you…" he trailed off.

"What about me?" She turned to look directly at him, and he felt that familiar flutter in his stomach as he held her gaze.

"You know what," he whispered back, sickeningly flashing back to the Manor and her screams.

"I'm fine."

"I'm worried about you."

"You shouldn't be," she sighed, almost inaudibly.

"Why the hell not?"

Her eyes finally darted away from his, back to the fire.

"It's not worth it," she breathed.

His next breath came shallow and tight, and he had to force himself to keep his voice down when he spoke again.

"You can't stop me."

Her eyes flashed instantly back to his, daring.

"Ron-"

"Just two days ago, you nearly-" he choked on that next word and shook his head. "I can't even bloody say it."

"Shh, you'll wake Harry and Dean."

"Harry. Harry wouldn't be okay either, if something happened to you. He _wasn't_ okay."

"That's not the same thing."

His throat constricted immediately, and this was getting dangerously close to things he'd only ever admitted aloud in delirium. He rather tried to avoid recalling what _exactly_ he'd said to her when they'd arrived here. A part of him was fairly certain he'd told her he couldn't live without her, but she'd been unconscious at the time…

"How do you know?" he whispered, and he hadn't intended it, but he saw a flash of deep insecurity cross her face.

"Maybe I don't, sorry…" she muttered, and he caught her shivering as she clutched her blanket tighter around her shoulders, turning back to face the fire.

Sod it. His fear of being fully honest couldn't compare to his need not to let her feel like that.

"You're right. It isn't the same at all," he said solidly, watching her face carefully. Her lips parted, and it took several tense seconds for her to reply.

"Going through all that…" she started, so quietly he had to lean a bit closer to hear her properly, "it… it made me think about a lot of things."

He wasn't going to push her this time. He bit his tongue and waited, feeling his heartbeat throbbing in his ears. And he could see how hard it was for her, how much she wanted her own words to be argued. He was already fighting this, she just didn't know it. But she should've.

"If she'd killed me, you and Harry… you'd both just have to have gone on fighting without me, wouldn't you. Shouldn't we try not to make that any harder? We knew what we were g-getting into, didn't we?"

His eyes prickled with forceful tears, and his temperature was rising to oppose her. Was distance supposed to make him care- no, _love_ her less? This was wrong. She had to see that.

"But why do we even have to _think_ about that?" he shot back, too loud.

He spotted her lips trembling as she glanced over her shoulder toward the sofa to check that Dean was still asleep. So, he scooted much closer, until his left side was purposefully touching hers, and he ducked so his voice only had to carry inches to reach her. But rather than look forward to the fire again, she stared right at him, the tip of his nose awfully close to hers. He swallowed, forcing himself to press on.

"You're alive," he breathed. "As long as we're safe here, can't we just…"

She was hardly blinking, breathing through parted lips. He could _feel her breath_ against his own skin.

"Just what?" she mouthed, and he almost smiled. She was as incapable of being patient just now as he had been.

He could only think of one thing he wanted to do. One thing he had to do next.

He reached up, looped his arm around her neck, and pulled her closer, til his mouth rested on her forehead, and fuck it, he closed his eyes and kissed her.

Her whole body shook, and he realised immediately that she was crying.

"Hermione-" he muttered against her skin.

But rather than pull away, she desperately held him closer. Her cheek dropped to his knee, her nails dug into his shin, and his arm stretched across her back as he bent forward to rest his own cheek on top of her head.

"I wanted to tell you," she sniffed, and he could _feel_ her speaking, her beautiful voice a calming wave. He softly closed his eyes. "When I didn't know how to say it, I was just trying to th-thank you."

"For what?" he mumbled through her hair.

"Well… _everything_ , now… I've been so afraid to lose something I thought I'd never even have."

He didn't quite understand what she meant, but he knew what he had to ask next.

"Is that my fault? That you didn't know?"

"I just didn't think I should imagine we had a future. But that's wrong, isn't it."

He felt silent tears fall from his closed eyes, wetting her hair.

"We." It wasn't a question, at least it never had been for him.

She held him tighter. His hand slipped down from her shoulder, across her arm, now bare from where her blanket had fallen away.

"Stay here with me," he whispered, matching his breath to the movement of her back with each inhale as she nodded against his knee.


	22. A poem by Christina Rosetti

_**Prompt: A poem by Christina Rosetti - I chose "Shut Out"**_

 _Prompted by: KrystynaK on FFN_

* * *

She was asleep, and she was holding his hand.

It wasn't the first time - the memory of exactly how it had felt before had traveled with him from that first night at Grimmauld Place. But it _was_ the first time she'd done it so automatically, silently, securely.

Her fingers were laced between his.

He'd slowly woken in the tent, in the middle of the night, to sharp pain in his shoulder. In deep sleep, he'd nearly forgotten he'd been splinched. His next conscious thought had been to be bloody careful not to move his right hand, in case he woke her and she went away…

She'd moved her bed close enough to his that there was hardly any space between them at all.

Of course he didn't _want_ her to worry about him, but… He could admit it was well worth it, the pain, if it meant she'd stay so close. And though he could probably fall back to sleep if he tried, her face was turned toward him, and he was having a hard time closing his eyes long enough to do it.

So many things were now uncertain, but he effortlessly knew what he felt for her. It had taken a fair bit of wrestling to consciously admit it. Not that he hadn't long ago realised he fancied her. But a crush on his closest female friend was an entirely different thing to manage than being deeply, irreversibly in love with her.

So many tiny things about her were woven into him, so many that he was sure he didn't even know about them all. And sometimes… just sometimes, he'd think he could see the same in her. Maybe it was only their intimate friendship, after all they'd been through in so many years, and some days that was all he could bring himself to believe she felt. But quietly, alone together, he might catch her gaze and know all she was thinking in just one shared glance.

He took stolen moments then to look at her, the way her hair was bunched over her shoulders, a tight ringlet curl brushing her cheek. She'd taken off her jumper, and she was tucked under a wool blanket to her ribs, bare shoulders crossed only by the fabric of her thin vest straps. She seemed peaceful, just then, dreaming something pleasant, or not dreaming at all.

He was lucky, he thought suddenly. She was there, no matter what would happen next. Drowsily, he tried to imagine if he'd never met her, how many times he'd already be dead… or, perhaps more importantly, how many times he'd have been _alone_. And strangely, just then, a more pressing concern - how cold his empty hand would feel.

Her eyes twitched behind closed lids, then slowly opened, immediately trapped in his unmoving gaze.

"Ron?" she mouthed, halfway between confused and pleased. Suddenly, her sleepy eyes snapped wide. "Your arm!"

"It's fine, don't get up," he hurried to whisper, clasping her hand tighter.

She seemed incredibly reluctant to listen to him. His thumb moved across her knuckles, and she sighed.

"I've got to check it soon. It can't get infected," she whispered, but she scooted almost imperceptibly closer, head resting back on her pillow again.

"Don't worry so much."

"I know it hurts…"

He wasn't going to lie. But there was no point in talking about this either. It was so rare these days to be alone with her and not be consumed with worry about more than one of the million or so things that could go wrong at any moment. It wasn't resentment - he knew what they had to do - but if fear and tension were playing a loop inside their heads anyway, the least they could do was occasionally just- well, just lie there in the dark, holding hands.

For one fleeting second, he was sure that if he pulled her closer, it would be the right thing.

Her tired eyes were much more alive now, darting between his. Her lips softly lifted, the tiniest, shy smile. And her own thumb brushed the side of his hand.

He wasn't going to sleep, he deliriously decided. He couldn't waste one more moment not looking at her, not being right there.

"Is this okay?" she asked nervously, and it had felt so far past okay that the question made him laugh.

"Yeah," he smiled, breathing deeply as she visibly relaxed, shifting her legs as close as possible to the edge of her bed.

He felt it all rise terribly close to the surface, vulnerably written in his expression, whatever she could see in the dark. If she could just know how much he loved her, know it without him having to say it…

And he surprised himself, as his eyes finally slipped unconsciously shut, tugged far outside his will toward sleep, by surreally knowing the same things about her.

* * *

He grasped backward in time - _weeks_ , though he could hardly bring himself to realise it. Each hour that had passed from his departure felt like a firm punch to the stomach.

He'd known, after escaping the Snatchers in the woods, that he'd be relying on a fair bit of luck to get back to Harry and Hermione. Now, listening to the soft crashing of waves against the sand at Bill and Fleur's, he was confident that it would take a lot more than luck.

In the bright light of crushing day, he could see so much more clearly, which only made the distance appear further… and further. Harry had always cared. He'd maybe even loved Ginny once. Maybe he still did.

And Hermione.

Ron had been given - given _himself_ \- a clear view of what it was like to be without her. He'd caught a glimpse of it before, during their most difficult rows. He knew what the deepest, darkest pits of his soul looked like. Now, he'd found a devastating way to dig just a little deeper. Canvas walls and camp beds felt like undeserved luxury. Then what was the cost of seeing her again?

He'd left his best mate, his brother, to struggle in darkness against an unbelievable current. Yet _he_ had been granted this beautiful place to hate himself, winter sun glinting off the sea, tall grass blowing in a salty breeze. A wonderful place for flying, he bitterly concluded.

But he kept reaching away, unseeing. Had he done that with Hermione, too? Had he been too devoured by self-doubt and dread to accept the truth? That she cared for him like he cared for her?

He wouldn't dare think of love.

He couldn't see a way back. He fought, every moment, to _hope_. But he couldn't see.

He'd left his gloves inside Shell Cottage, and his hands were frozen, but he wouldn't move. He could warm them cruelly by memory, her fingers intertwined with his in silence, where he belonged.


	23. Remedy by Adele

_**Prompt: "Remedy" by Adele**_

 _Prompted by: lilyjean630_

* * *

These books couldn't help her tonight, but she'd dived deep, anyway. She always had. She probably always would.

Spread across the floor of her room, on the second floor of her parents' home, were magical and Muggle tomes alike, some with well-worn spines from decades of use, others with the crisp stiffness of a fresh printing, ink still sharply black against snow white pages. Many years ago, she'd counted them all as friends, _that one_ with the faded navy cover and two torn pages that she'd nearly memorised by age seven; _another_ with its silky dust jacket and unusually large font that she'd honestly opened so frequently because of the beautiful illustrations in the second half; a collection of paperbacks, young adult fiction she'd skimmed on rainy weekends, sent as Christmas gifts from distant relatives.

Often, the search for answers was obsessive. She'd learned through years of Hogwarts, a nagging, nearly subconscious need to prove her _belonging_ in a new world of magic. She'd learned to trust obsession, to trust that if she looked long enough, hard enough, for almost anything at all, the books would show her the way.

The things that had hurt the most had been those dark avenues that had led to the unknown, where millions of pages had left her with more questions than she'd had before… where her _friends_ had failed. Did they really know her, then? Did they know her like _he_ did? They never could.

She glanced left to see Ron quietly dozing on her bed, lying on his stomach, and the book that had been spread open across her lap was suddenly distant and unnecessary.

For a peaceful, July night, she was much too alert. They'd come back to her room after dinner at the Burrow, her mind racing, muttering to herself and rummaging through boxes and shelves. And he'd stayed, in spite of the way she now realised she'd ignored him. She'd only been trying to fix it, to unbreak things that needed _time_ , not facts. Her parents were home, and even the distance she felt from them now should be a relief considering they were safe, they knew her again, and she hadn't ruined the charm as she'd anxiously feared she would.

But what if she _had_ , she'd repeat, often inside her own mind, occasionally out loud to Ron's casual, confident reminder that she hadn't. She could not reset the past, make them exactly as they had been, after all that had happened in between.

As she'd so rarely done before, she now quietly asked herself why. Why did she still use books as distraction? Why did she still endlessly seek answers and truth to her life in preset, limiting pages? It had been her solace, her passion, her constant in turmoil. In many respects - research, knowledge, even pleasure - of course it still would be. But now...

No. It hadn't only been _now_. She'd known, long ago, felt the comfort of his presence (his voice, his words, the way he would look at her).

An affectionate smile tugged at her lips, staring quietly at his peaceful form. He'd ditched his trainers at the side of her bed, and her gaze trailed up his body from his gray, wool socks to the slightly too-short legs of his dark jeans. There was a pale strip of exposed skin at his waist before his questionably too-tight green shirt hugged his back and shoulders, one arm tucked under her pillow, a scruffy cheek against the purple cotton of her pillow case. His fringe cut across his forehead, past his brows, and it would have brushed his feathery lashes had his eyes been open.

Her book slid forgotten from her lap as she crawled closer.

His body moved subtly as he breathed, lips barely parted. She rested on her knees, close enough to touch him… reaching out a hand toward his tousled hair. Her fingers raked through it, and he cracked open his eyes.

"Hey," he grinned, voice thick with sleep and beautifully scratchy. Her heart flipped delightfully, her hand resting gently on the side of his head for a second before retreating. "Sorry. Didn't mean to fall asleep."

She shook her head, smiling back.

"Did you find what you needed?" he slurred, softly staring at her.

"Doesn't matter," she answered quietly, yet she realised this wasn't entirely accurate. Maybe she _had_ , only he'd been asking specifically about the books strewn across her room…

He rolled lightly onto his side to see her better, eyes roaming lazily across her face.

"I haven't been very helpful," he said with a soft chuckle, but he was serious, too, and she almost laughed.

"No, I haven't been listening to you," she sniffed, sliding a bit closer to rest her chin on the edge of the bed.

"Doing what, snoring?" he teased, punctuated by a yawn he tried to stifle.

"No," she grinned. "You just keep reminding me of the good things we have."

"Do I?"

She nodded awkwardly against the bed, and he slid his head off her pillow so their faces were an inch apart.

"Do you want to stay over?" she whispered.

"Always," he answered surprisingly, forcing a warm flush to her cheeks. He seemed to catch up to what he'd admitted, and he cleared his throat. "Y'know… if you want me to."

Instead of answering with words, she tilted her head a bit left to kiss him, feeling the pleasant vibration of his low moan of appreciation against her mouth. Nearly two months, and this still felt new, thrilling… a bit of leftover disbelief that it was _him_ , and she could do _this_ , and he _wanted her to_. His hand found her cheek, fingertips spreading over her ear, into her tangled curls. She couldn't get close enough, not from her position on the floor.

She pulled back and opened her eyes, watching as his hand remained against her face and his own eyes opened, pleasantly dazed. She licked her bottom lip, and he smiled at her, a deep sort of longing etched across his features.

"I'll just find some pyjamas," she said hoarsely, and she could sense the joke before he'd said it.

"Why d'you need those?"

She laughed softly, but then boldly considered… He watched, quickly gaining alertness, as she stood and stripped off her jeans, looking away from his slightly raised brows to follow up with her shirt. And though briefly self conscious in her bra and knickers, one look at his expression as he rolled to his back to stare up at her was all she ever needed. She had stopped asking why, trying to learn to accept that he loved her - everything about her - just as she loved him.

Heat spread across her chest and face as she climbed over him, straddling his lap as he held her waist, and she ducked forward to kiss him again. Her thick hair curtained around their faces, hiding them in shadow, and fearful tension eased away as his hands slid up her bare back. She could feel him breathing strongly beneath her, his tongue swiping her lips and her fingers skating up the sides of his stubbly face, into his beautiful hair.

Since their first, frantic kiss during the war, they hadn't held back. They didn't seem to know what it was like to be cautious when it came to this, anymore. Maybe it was because they'd never looked so far to the future, believing - _really_ believing - it could be theirs.

Maybe it was just because she'd fancied him since she was fifteen, and she'd grown so tired of hiding it.

He clutched her on top of him, pulling her closer, and she brushed their noses together as she sucked in a breath, changing angles. Slowly, they were rolling so she landed on the bed beside him, lips separating in breathy moans as he twisted around to take off his jeans. He kicked them off the side of the bed and she pulled him on top of her, mouths and tongues colliding, one of his hands tangling in her hair.

When they pulled apart again, his eyes met hers, the joint of his thumb on her jaw, a soft swipe across her cheek.

"Sure you're alright?" he asked. And they'd done this before, used closeness as a distraction.

There had been wracking sobs on the floor of his room after Fred, followed later by angry, bitter screams through a raw throat. She'd huddled in a ball, silent, on the floor of an Australian hotel room in the middle of the night, unable to breathe after three days without finding her parents. He'd literally picked her up, saved her from her own darkness.

But there had been days they'd laughed so hard they could hardly breathe. God, she loved to see his smile, to know she'd caused it, even in some small way. There had been nights she'd Apparated straight to his room, crawling into his bed to the echo of a thunderstorm, watching Cannons players zip by overhead as he ran his fingers down her bare back.

Tonight, a sleepy sort of haze was draped around them as she stared up into his eyes.

"Mm, yes. I am," she answered hoarsely, reassuring simple words with a genuine smile that he effortlessly returned.


	24. He'd literally picked her up

_**A/N:** Okay, so this is a weird one. The "prompt" is actually just a line from day 23 that jenn582 mentioned she would like to read a full fic about. I think this is probably cheating, but I hope you enjoy it! x_

* * *

 _ **Prompt: "He'd literally picked her up, saved her from her own darkness."**_

 _Prompted by: jenn582_

* * *

For a few confusing seconds, when Ron opened his eyes to the almost pitch dark, he had no bloody idea where he was. The bed was too big, the walls too far apart, and the softly rattling white noise coming from the window to his left-

Suddenly, he recalled, like fading in from amnesia, the Muggle air-conditioner Hermione had told him about.

Hermione. He was there with Hermione. Australia. They were looking for her parents, and they were sharing a Muggle hotel room, but she wasn't in bed with him.

He sat up, hair a tousled mess and eyes still adjusting to the dark.

"Ermynee?" he called in a rough, unused voice.

But he found her before she could reply, if she'd even been able to, anyway. She was huddled on the floor in the farthest away corner, knees tucked up to her chest and clutching them tightly with both her arms, head ducked down so she looked so very small.

He was out of bed in half a second, dizzily on his bare feet and rushing over to kneel in front of her.

"What's wrong?" he asked breathlessly, reaching out to touch her forearm.

A sickening flash shot through him, memories of Malfoy Manor. Would he always go back there, when she was ill or in pain? He shook the memories free to focus on the present.

"Hermione." Her head was still ducked forward, and he couldn't see her face.

"Lost them," he heard her wheeze, as if she hadn't even been breathing.

For one ridiculous second he was ready to ask what she meant, what she'd lost, and then he could have cursed his carelessness. At least he hadn't said the words aloud. Her parents, of course, the reason why they were there, three days into a search with no real progress.

"No," he said, regaining strength in his now-alert voice. "Gonna find them. I know we will."

She didn't move or respond. He wasn't even sure if she'd heard him. His heart was beating uncomfortably, startled from waking up so disoriented, compounded by anxious fear over finding her like this.

He slid his hand up her arm, and her skin was like ice. He remembered that she'd wanted the air to stay on, sending gusts of chilly wind across their room. The previous night, it had felt alright. Now that he was out of bed, naked from the waist up, his muscles tensed against the cold.

He moved closer so his knees touched her legs, gently clasping both of her upper arms in his large hands. Her small vest and knickers left so much bare skin, and she was frozen, though she hardly seemed to notice.

Shock, he thought. She had woken up, panicked, he'd been unconscious, and now she was here. It had happened before, only not quite like this. Before, she'd spoken in ranting waves of irrational fear. Now, he just needed to know she was with him.

"C'mere, you're freezing." She made no movement, no sound. "Hey. _Hermione_."

Her shoulders tensed, and he could tell now that she was silently sobbing. An intense sort of sadness clenched his chest, mingled with nauseous worry for her, and she deserved to be happy, relieved that the war was over, not scared and responsible for her family.

"Fuck, m'sorry," he said roughly, sniffing. "Wake me up next time, please, love."

She lifted her head then, to his surprise, a few stray curls stuck to her cheeks and tears coating her face. He somehow knew he'd accidentally gotten through, unintentionally calling her something he'd never said before. Sod it, he'd told her he loved her a week ago. He didn't have the energy to be embarrassed, anymore.

Whatever had kept her frozen suddenly snapped, and her body shook with the cold and her broken sobs. She reached for him, grabbed ahold of his hands, too tight and nails digging into his flesh, but he didn't care. He wanted to get her back to bed, under their blankets to warm up, but she was furiously shaking and he didn't think she could walk. He didn't dwell on it before he did it, prying her hands off his only to wordlessly crouch at her side and scoop his arms under her legs and her back, holding her against his chest and half-balancing with a shoulder pressed to the wall as he stood and picked her up.

For a brief second, she seemed too startled to cry, quickly clutching him around the neck, eyes flashing to his in the dark. He swallowed, took a step, and she closed her eyes, trusting him. It was a short few strides to the bed, and she was nearly weightless to him just then, recalling how he'd carried her unconscious body from the beach to his brother's house mere months ago.

He placed her gently on the mattress, and his arms shook for a moment as he steadied her weight before letting go. She tucked her knees up and he climbed in with her, tugging a tangled sheet and thick blanket over them both.

She opened her eyes, tears still pouring down her face, and she stared across at him. He should know what to do, he reckoned, but he felt quite helpless and lost. Over the past two weeks, he'd grown closer to her than he'd imagined. They'd spent almost every waking and sleeping second together. Some had been absolutely brilliant, snogging (and more) in his bed in the middle of the night, finding moments during the day to sneak away and be alone. Some had been hell, cleaning up the rubble from that final, deadly battle, and his brother's funeral…

But they had been together. And so long before that, he'd _known_ her. He would have presumptuously guessed he'd known her better than anyone. Now, he should know what to say.

He draped an arm over her shoulder, trying to get a bit closer, blocked by her knees. His fingers weaved into her hair, and he was afraid he couldn't fix this. And maybe he wasn't meant to.

Discontent with this thought, he kept on looking at her, searching for an answer. His mind quickly wandered to how lovely she was, even in the middle of the night and falling apart, and he thought, not for the first time, that it was a bloody miracle that he was the one who got to be with her like this.

She finally slid her knees down, cold, bare legs rubbing against his warmer ones. He shoved his arm under the pillow they were sharing and touched his forehead to hers and kept looking back into her blurring eyes. Slowly, his hand moved halfway down her back, then up into her hair again. His fingers combed absentmindedly through it, and she blinked slowly.

As minutes passed, she seemed to be calming down, and he was compelled to lift his head and softly kiss her cheek, pulling back to swipe his thumb across the spot. The smallest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and he felt immediately relieved.

"What can I do?" he asked. Anything she could say, he would do it.

"You're amazing," she answered hoarsely instead, and he felt very far inferior to her compliment, lightly flushing.

"I'm not," he whispered back, but she shook her head and angled her mouth against his in a gentle kiss.

"Sorry," she whispered back when they broke apart. "I'm alright now."

"Scared me a bit…" he confessed.

"It just feels so hopeless sometimes. And I know you don't think I have, but what if I've m-made a mistake and they'll never be right again? Even if we find them…"

"But what if we _do_ find them, tomorrow, you do the spell you've read over so many times you could perform it in your bloody sleep, and we're on the way back to London in a week?"

She had no quick response for this, apparently, but she eventually rolled to her back and scooted so her shoulder was against his chest.

"You really think that's what will happen?" she finally asked.

"Why not?"

She glanced sideways at him, and he tried to read her expression, but he didn't get much time before she flipped to her opposite side so her back was toward him, reaching for his arm and tugging it over her waist.

"You make a good argument," she teased, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Cheers," he grinned back, closing his eyes and snuggling up closer to her, much warmer now.

He wasn't quite sure, but he thought he could feel her heart beating through her back, and he hugged her tighter, her hand gripping his and pulling it up to her chest. He could certainly feel her heartbeat there. A comforting wave washed over him, knowing that in spite of everything difficult - that swirling pit of fear inside her that frantically sought a place to go, now that the worst was over - they were alive, together.

"I know this isn't easy," she said quietly, and he sensed her voice wavering with nervousness, "but I'm so happy I'm with you."


	25. Ron is a little spoon

_**Prompt: Ron is a little spoon**_

 _Prompted by: queenbqueenbb_

* * *

The sun was setting on the waves outside Shell Cottage, and she was laughing. He reckoned he hadn't heard her laugh like that in months. They were sitting in the sand, and she'd leaned her head against his shoulder, shaking. He'd made a joke he was already forgetting, too wrapped up in this moment to care. Just then, it could have all been over, they could have been there on holiday instead.

He wanted to put his arm around her. He was strangely confident that she wouldn't mind, but it still look him a few stretched seconds of overthinking to finally do it.

She immediately leaned further against him, the moment his hand touched her shoulder. They stayed that way for several heart-pounding minutes. He could have stayed for days.

A salty breeze blew her hair across his face, tickling his nose and mouth, and he reached up to move it. She lifted her head from his shoulder again, smiling.

"Sorry," she said, but he shook his head, grinning back.

Now, they didn't even need a reason - _everything_ was light and amusing. She stared into his eyes, a soft flush across her cheeks, and she laughed once more, unable to hold it in, even with her lips pressed together.

"Supper!" called a French voice from behind them, but neither turned to look back.

"Do you want to go in?" he asked quietly.

"Not yet," she sighed. "It's nice out here." She was looking at the sea again, pink and orange reflecting off the surface.

"Yeah," he agreed. He was looking at her.

* * *

She was too alert to rest, lying wide awake on her bed and obsessing over the way he'd held her hand all the way back inside for supper. She smiled broadly, not caring how silly she must look to the dark, quiet room. And she wanted to see him again. It was well past midnight, and everyone was surely asleep, but she slid out of bed and quietly crossed the room, opening the door with a glance back to be sure she hadn't disturbed Luna before slipping out into the hall.

As she came down the stairs, she could hear Harry's soft snores, and she held her breath, hopeful she wouldn't wake the others. Not for the first time, she wished there was someplace she could go with Ron to be alone…

She quickly spotted him lying on the floor, his shaggy ginger head, sleeping bag tugged down to his waist, back toward her. Bubbly excitement filled her stomach, and she tiptoed closer, kneeling when she reached him. She'd come this far, she reasoned, and she could tell how warm his body would be, radiating so close to her.

Carefully, she stretched out on her side, behind him. Scooted closer. Tentatively draped her arm over his side-

"Hermione?!" he started, way too loud.

"Shh, you'll wake Harry and Dean," she whispered frantically, shivering from the sudden arrival of nerves. She hadn't gone too far… had she? The first night they'd been here, he'd slept in her bed. The circumstances had been… _different_ , but-

As if to reassure her against the thoughts he couldn't know she'd been having, he reached down and held onto her arm, tugging her closer so the front of her body pressed along the back of his. And as she leaned into their closeness, she found her face so near to the back of his neck that her lips brushed his hair when she spoke.

"You're so warm."

He shivered immediately, contradicting her words, and when his fingers twitched on her arm, she sensed he'd reacted to her breath on his skin… This thought lodged heavily, and she could think of nothing else. Could he really be as affected by her as she was by him?

God, he felt amazing. She breathed as quietly and as deeply as she could, trying not to get too carried away… to obsess on the fact that, aside from the night he'd thought she might die, they'd never been this close before.

"I'm not complaining," he whispered, "but what are you doing down here?"

She shrugged against his back, aware that she had no good reason to name. _I missed you_ seemed to stick permanently in her throat.

"What are _you_ doing down here?" she teased instead, smiling.

"I _was_ trying to sleep, cheers," he whispered back, clearly grinning, too.

"So sorry for disturbing you," she hissed sarcastically, beginning to move her arm away. He snatched her hand to stop her, weaved their fingers together, and held on even tighter than before as she briefly shook with giddy, silent laughter.

His thumb brushed across her knuckles, and she tried to calm down. He was holding her hand against his chest, and this wasn't the sort of thing you did with a friend.

What was wrong with her, really? This wasn't the first time she'd had such a thought… as far back as his brother's wedding and the way he'd ducked his head over the top of hers while they'd danced. Earlier still, if she was being honest. How much longer did she have to wait to convince herself that this was safe? That the _something_ he felt for her wasn't just friendship, anymore?

Was it easier when she wasn't looking at his face? She closed her eyes and tried to picture his expression, but her hand moved absentmindedly under his, and he flinched. She realised a second later, as she opened her eyes, that she'd accidentally tickled him. She did it again.

"Oi!" he whispered loudly.

"Shhhh!" she giggled, trying and failing to do it a third time. He was holding on too tight for her to move, and before she'd figured out what he was doing, he'd hauled her hand up to his face. He locked his forearm over hers and held her knuckles against his mouth.

Her heart thumped boldly behind her ribs.

"Cut it out," he mumbled against her fingers, evidently smiling again from the amused tone of his raspy whisper.

She swallowed and tilted her head just enough forward that she could feel the skin of his neck through his hair.

"Fine," she whispered back, her lips touching him as she spoke.

His body tensed for a moment before his hand slackened on hers, sliding down to her wrist.

A metre away, Harry's snoring abruptly cut off… then resumed.

They remained motionless and silent for what had to have been a full minute after that.

"Ron?" she whispered to his neck.

"Yeah?" he answered immediately.

She struggled with what she wanted to say next, finally forming three words.

"This is nice."

"Yeah, it is."

"I'll go back up soon, before someone wakes up."

"Not _too_ soon…" he muttered, linking his fingers with hers again, and she couldn't be certain, but she felt his lips brush across her fingers like the faintest hint of a kiss.


End file.
